<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>from a safe distance by witisoverrated</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761067">from a safe distance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/witisoverrated/pseuds/witisoverrated'>witisoverrated</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the closer you get, the further I fall [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Archie Comics, Archie Comics &amp; Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Domesticity??, F/M, Jughead has money but doesn’t know how to spend it, Murder, Mystery, Romance, They're both assholes who don't know how to talk about their feelings, Veronica is a socialite with expensive taste</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:14:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>34,316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25761067</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/witisoverrated/pseuds/witisoverrated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s incredibly difficult to appear asleep while also keeping an eye on an increasingly suspicious neighbour. </p><p>-</p><p>Rear Window AU - in which Jughead and Veronica escaped Riverdale and are now rich, pretentious 20-something-years-old New Yorkers who like to snoop.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jughead Jones &amp; Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the closer you get, the further I fall [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150874</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>178</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this whenever I took a break from writing my other fic. I've always wanted to write something inspired by Hitchcock's Rear Window but I've also been itching to write adult Jughead and Veronica as rich, pretentious New Yorkers so I thought why not combine the two lol. There's a bit of a back and forth with the timeline because I wanted to explore how they got to this point of their life without going too much into what happened pre-NYC. </p><p>Anyway, I think this will be 3-4 parts. Nothing too long but not too short that it doesn't get down to the nitty-gritty of their relationship over the years. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feel free to leave constructive comments, I'm always open to it x</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jughead hates the fact that he left Riverdale but never really did.</p><p>They say trauma follows you but he figures it’s only a figure of speech. It took him New York, Italy, Spain, Rome, Tokyo, London, then Italy again, then back to New York again to realise that life was one messed-up cycle of murders, shady businessmen, unwelcomed coincidences and Veronica. The last bit he doesn’t mind so much. They’d left together, so it’s only fair that she gets to haunt him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It took her four years to catch up to him; longer than he’d counted on. He’d tripped over a conceptual installation at an exhibition hosted by MoMa in honour of some Coney Island-based artist with a name no one knows how to pronounce. She’d swept in to save the day with the grace and gaiety of the girl – woman – he knew her to be. The whole room laughed fondly as they watched him be led out by the arm to the foyer. As they rounded the corner, she plucked a champagne flute off a sculpture that was apparently a fine substitute for a tray.</p><p>“You a part of the performative art too?” he’d asked her, all snark and no bite.</p><p>Veronica just smiled at him, refusing to show any teeth as she took his hand in hers and squeezed.  </p><p>She patted his cheek patronisingly and it felt like a slap. “Oh Forsythe dear, you’re just as I’ve left you.”</p><p>He scoffed a bitter laugh and drank down her Dom Perignon in one cleansing gulp.</p><p>They ended up ditching after they both agreed that the whole thing was entirely too pretentious to stimulate either of their brains. They hailed a cab and ended up at a bar right on the outskirt of Brooklyn. The place was stuffy and old and Veronica got weird looks from all the hipster patrons. He noticed that she never ordered rum and refrained from mentioning it because he knew that was a low blow. She sold the business and gave him half the payout. He kept turning it down during their drive but once they got to the city, he realised he’d be foolish to let his pride get in the way of basic survival. They split after that. Veronica vanished into thin air until one day, he’d accidentally flipped from ‘Vice’ to ‘E! News’ and saw her face floating next to some big-time wall-street guy. Theirs was set to be the biggest wedding to hit high society since JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette’s. He thought it ironic how she wound up exactly where she was destined to be before Riverdale happened. He saw her a couple of more times on the Sunday Times until work started putting him up at all sorts of strange places. That was a fine arrangement for him, he didn’t like being in New York for too long anyway.</p><p>Veronica didn’t look much different from what he had in mind. There were subtle signs of ageing, sure, but it only made her the more beautiful – regal. At 22, her face was sharper now and so were her gloaming eyes. Her raven hair got even darker if that was possible, and there was a midnight blue gleam to them whenever the light bounced off her strands. Her locks were shorter too and the ends perfectly curved into a soft bob. The right side of her slick cut hung perfectly over her face and cast a romantic shadow over her well-defined features. She was more perfect, more aloof, and even more distant than the night they hightailed out of town.</p><p>“I’m on the board of NYFA, Jughead,” she informed him like it was common knowledge, “Of course, I knew you’d be there. In fact, I made sure you got the invite.”</p><p>Confounded was an understatement of how he was feeling. “Why?”</p><p>She grinned at him conspiratorially. “I thought it was about time we catch up.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sometimes when they go out to eat, people still call her ‘Mrs. Cushing.’ It never fails to make her screw up her nose because really, she shouldn’t have to correct them. After all, she never took his name in the first place. Like now, when she’s storming through his door with a takeaway bowl of Waldorf salad for her and Pasta alla Norma for him.</p><p>“You would think that with how often we eat there, they’d at least know what name I go by.”</p><p>Veronica divorced Tom Cushing almost three years ago. The repressed fifties housewife thing got old eventually. She got half of everything – the money, the cars, the holiday home, and even the apartment. Tom had offered to move out but Veronica thought that if he couldn’t have her then he should at least get to keep the memories of her decorating what she thought would be a happy home. So it was bye-bye the penthouse and hello to an equally comfortable flat in a more gentrified neighbourhood.</p><p>“See this,” Veronica takes a couple of strides over to show him a flimsy paper with their orders hastily scratched on it, “They even wrote my name down correctly – Veronica Lodge.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s a new person,” Jughead offers sympathetically.</p><p>She doesn’t look or sound convinced as she mutters darkly on her way to the kitchen.</p><p>Veronica had called him a week after the news made a splash on the Times’ society page. He hadn’t asked for an explanation but she gave it anyway. She told him she needed time to be alone – she had a few things to straighten out for the settlement but he knew when she said “things,” she just meant <em>her</em>. He remembered ringing her back a few days after to invite her out for a drink – you know, to be polite. She agreed as long as it was outside 55<sup>th</sup> and Lexington. She said she couldn’t risk a run-in with catty socialites and old money hags, especially not on their turf. Jughead met with her that Friday, sometime between the afternoon and the evening. She was wearing capris, a grey turtle neck jumper that was slightly too big and cat-eye sunglasses. He didn’t even get to say ‘hi’ before she threw herself into his arms and hugged him so tightly that he thought his spine might snap in half.</p><p>They haven’t stopped seeing each other since.</p><p>In a very Veronica-like fashion, she quickly found herself a job at Vogue as a contributing editor. The office happens to be a block away from his place. Which is convenient because she likes to invite herself over for an afternoon cocktail, if not, then dinner. Her visits have become longer and more frequent now that he literally can’t leave his apartment unless it consists of wheeling himself out of the window. He seriously considered it when she showed up on one particularly hot afternoon with a jar of olives and showed him fabric swatches of neoprene so she could get his opinion on them. Ever since his ‘accident,’ Veronica has been that little bit more unbearable. She’s always trying to play nurse because according to her, he had neither a mother nor a sister to take care of him so it was up to her to fill that void.</p><p>She propels herself up on his kitchen counter knowing that it would irate him and swishes her layered chiffon skirt over her knee. Her chocolate brown eyes glaze over all the junk mailed he’d accumulated within the last few months of doing fuck all.</p><p>“Oh,” Veronica expels flatly, “So you’ve seen it.”</p><p>He hates the way she said<em> it</em>. Like<em> it</em> is tainted or forbidden. It’s not, it’s just a piece of paper with fancy embroideries and some sophisticated fonts printed on it.</p><p>“It’s rude to go through other people’s mail, you know.”</p><p>Veronica arches a perfectly groom brow and holds the thing up like a policeman would a speeding ticket.</p><p>“You can’t force me to go,” he says like it’s not up for argument but she’ll make one out of it anyway.</p><p>She smiles at him, a daringness to the curve of her perfectly painted lips as she fiddles with the corner of the invitation.</p><p>“I don’t understand why they’d want us there anyway,” Jughead continues unprompted, hating the bitter aftertaste that the words left, “We bailed so they could get their happy ending and we get to be somewhat content. Let’s not pick at the scab of an old wound.”</p><p>“Somewhat content, really? I think you’re being a tad dramatic there, your life has turned out leagues better than content and my life is as fabulous as ever,” she swishes her pin-straight hair over her exposed collarbone and hops off the bench, the train of her skirt floating behind her like an expensive cloud, “Anyway, I think we should go and get it over and done with.”</p><p>“Get what over and done with?”</p><p>“Closure?” she suggests haltingly and starts to gather the ingredients for her afternoon Martini.</p><p>He levels with her. “The closure was leaving, Veronica.”</p><p>She gives him a knowing look. “No, that was us jumping the gun on closure.”</p><p>Jughead knows that Veronica wants to say, plain and simple, that they ran away. But he also knows that she knows how he hates it when she puts it that way. They didn’t run away from anything, they simply bowed out from parts they weren’t meant to play. And they were right to do that because now Archie and Betty are getting married like the universe and rainbow unicorns have intended it. They found out some time ago – well, <em>Veronica</em> found out – through Cheryl Blossom of all people that Archie had taken over Fred’s construction business and Betty had turned down an offer to work as a political consultant to some independent Libertarian candidate in lieu of teaching English to a bunch of junior high kids. It went unspoken that Archie was the primary reason for her permanent move back to Riverdale. Veronica took this news better than he did. If anything, she didn’t seem fazed in the very least when she recounted the story to him over brunch. Jughead knows that in many ways Veronica is the only person who truly understands him when it comes to the red-headed boy wonder and his golden girl, and he knows she wants to understand this too but she can’t possibly. He’d always known, even in the early days when Betty made him believe that her heart was his to claim, that he would always be the one to chase. She would never give up her dreams for him and he used to convince himself that he loved that about her amongst many other things, but the sad truth is she would do it for Archie and now everyone knows it too. Veronica never chased anything, not even her high school sweetheart’s waning fidelity. He<em> knows </em>that’s why he loves Veronica; she knows when she’s not wanted and she doesn’t care to change your mind.</p><p>He sighs tiredly and tries to wiggle his toes – still nothing.</p><p>“Make me one of those, will you?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead wounded up at college. This surprised him but no one else. Veronica helped him fill in his applications, coming up with all sorts of sophisticated adjectives and made him type them all up on his laptop whenever they stopped for food or gas. It was easy, probably even fun for her to bark orders at him since she had no plan for college herself. Despite how quickly everything was crumbling around her, Veronica did exceptionally well on her SAT. He tried to encourage her to apply somewhere but she always dismissed him – said she had an apprenticeship with Rodarte lined up for the next half year. He’d find out years later that she never started at Rodarte, instead, she met Tom Cushing and his long-time girlfriend while picking out bedding sets at Pottery Barn. Two weeks later, Tom left his girlfriend and proposed to Veronica outside of that very same Pottery Barn.</p><p>He did three years at NYU and graduated with a journalism degree. His Russian literature studies professor took enough of a liking to him to call in a favour at ‘Travel + Leisure’ and got him his first job as an assistant something. They moved him up to a staff writer after a year and gave the occasional odd jobs behind the camera. He eventually quit after taking a job at the New Yorker as a travel writer and a photographer. From that point on, he was never in one place for more than a week or two. It was always off to the next and his suitcase was never fully unpacked. Until six months ago when they suspended him indefinitely for tailing a Kushner at JFK airport, eventually confronting him in the bathroom with a recorder and some tough questions the real-estate developer wasn’t prepared to answer to. Apparently, they pay him to fly to Sweden and take some scenic pictures and not to harass tax-evading republican. As it turns out, the Kushners were a bunch of revenge hungry white supremacists because three months ago, while walking to his local Starbucks, a car pulled up at the lights and a man jumped out of it with a golf club. He got both his knee caps smashed in and now he can’t feel a thing from the waist down. The police said they’d investigate but nothing so far.</p><p>When Veronica found out, she made a big fuss of calling in her family doctor to tend to him. She told him that the man was so in demand that he was fully booked out until fall but she insisted that he comes over and takes a look anyway. Jughead was recommended an extended period of physical therapy and lots of rest. Brilliant as Dr. Hernandez is, he couldn’t say for sure when his legs would fully heal.</p><p>“Son, what you’re going to need is some faith and a lot of patience.”</p><p>Unfortunately for him, he has very little of either.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead spends what was supposed to be his “resting” time trying to peek through the narrow gap of his blinds without being too conspicuous. It’s incredibly difficult to appear asleep while also keeping an eye on an increasingly suspicious neighbour.</p><p>Veronica looks as if she wouldn’t notice a thing outside the pages of her book. Except she would. She acts like a cat sometimes, always watching even when you think she’s not. She’s currently lounging on the loveseat like one too. Her calves are folded over the cushiony armrest and her Louboutin heels are dangling off her dainty feet as she shakes them to the rhythm of Billie Holiday. How many times does he have to tell her that he doesn’t like it when she dog eared the pages? Just the other day he picked up a random Steinbeck’s novel from the bookshelf and the corners of the pages was littered with marking.</p><p>“She’s just getting up to change the channels,” the bored tone of her drawl is followed by the sound of her turning to the next page, “I’ll let you know if she does something remotely interesting. Which she won’t because you’re paranoid and she’s just a regular thirty-something woman waiting for her wife to come home from a trip.”</p><p>“It’s not paranoia if you heard a scream in the middle of the night and one of them is never to be seen again.”</p><p>“A passionate quarrel is actually healthy for a marriage, especially between two women,” she interjects, “At least that’s what Cheryl tells me.”</p><p>Jughead narrows his eyes. “She didn’t even take her trunk.”</p><p>“You don’t know that.”</p><p>“It’s sitting right there next to the bed, Veronica,” he says pointedly.</p><p>She sighs and looks up from her book. “Maybe the plan was to go together and that fell through. Or maybe she packed two bags and decided to take only the one. I don’t know – who cares?”</p><p>He wheels his chair around so he could give her a knowing look. “You’d never take only one suitcase. I’ve seen you pack.”</p><p>Veronica pushes herself off the seat and walks over to the record player. She lifts the needle, carefully dropping it on the first track, and listens to it crackle pleasantly.</p><p>“I’m the exception to the rules. Not the rules, Jughead.”</p><p>Jughead ignores her and makes it a point to mention, “You can’t honestly tell me that you don’t find it odd that she's wearing three jumpers and a parka in the middle of spring.”</p><p>“Maybe their heating is broken.”</p><p>“Veronica, it’s eighty degrees outside today.”</p><p>“Well,” she thinks about it for a moment, then, “Maybe she’s from Alaska and her body can’t withstand anything less than twenty degrees.”</p><p>Jughead rolls his eyes. “Could we listen to something else? I think you’ve had enough jazz for the day.”</p><p>“Is Amy Winehouse considered jazz?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Veronica doesn’t say it but he knows that she’s secretly glad that he’s homebound.</p><p>Sure, they keep in touch over long distance calls and she always makes it a point to come get him from the airport whenever he touched down in the city. Still, he was barely ever around long enough to go to the museum for art exhibits or old movies rerun at Film Forum or for her to redo his closet. They had plans to go on that trip to Milan to escape the dreaded winter season but now that he was unemployed and unable to walk, it was looking unlikely. He insisted that she goes anyway, the front row of a Prada show’s calling her name and Katy’s set to open up a store there. Maybe even take Josie with her, they could make a girl’s trip out of it. She said she’d think about it but it took her less than a day to cancel the trip and had her assistant clear her schedule for the next three months. Veronica was adamant that her sole focus was on his recovery.</p><p>“How’d your meeting go?”</p><p>“Splendid!” she chirps as she kicks her shoes off at the door and makes a beeline for the kitchen, “I re-styled an atrocious outfit and they approved my op-ed for next month’s issue. How was your day?”</p><p>“More of nothingness,” he tells her blandly and hears her chuckle from behind the kitchen bench.</p><p>Her petite frame sags over the marble counter as she disposes of an armful of shopping bags on it. Most of it came from the organic groceries from two blocks down, she stopped eating junk after she sold the diner back to Pop Tate. The slightest smell of grease puts her off now, he only noticed it a few years ago when they walked past a McDonald’s and she turned her back to him so she could dry heave in private. She shrugs off her cropped pale green jacket and begins to unpack the groceries. From where he’s sitting, he can see fresh fruits, cans of diced tomatoes, eggs, bacon, two avocados, a bag of quinoa, and a bouquet of daisies. Well, that’s fair – the pink roses from last week are beginning to wilt. </p><p>“So did they agree to give you a raise?”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” she waves him off as if it’s immaterial and shakes her glossy tresses free from the bun pinned to the nape of her neck, “But never mind that! I’ve got more exciting news.”</p><p>He regards her with an urging look. She returns it with a thousand-watt smile as she skips over to him and plants a quick peck to his cheek. He never noticed how affectionate of a person she is when they were younger and dating each other’s best friends. Now, she holds onto his arm when they lap around Central Park and kisses him goodnight but never on the lips.  </p><p>She sits down on the ottoman and takes a deep breather that has her whole body humming. “Tom Ford has agreed to dress us for the Met Gala.”</p><p>Jughead doesn’t remember agreeing to the Met Gala but that’s beside the point. Veronica has a habit of setting things up for him without ever asking. It used to annoy him but now he appreciates that she just wants to make things nice and pleasant for him. It’s what she does, and he loves that she goes out of her way to take care of everyone around her but he’d rather drown in Sweetwater river than admit that to her.</p><p>“Veronica,” he groans, “We don’t even know if I’d be back on my feet by then.”</p><p>He can see the corner of Veronica’s frown as she paddles back to the kitchen and removes a plastic tub from the only bag that isn’t from the local mart. She makes a show of opening the lid. Instantly, his apartment is flooded with the mouth-watering scent of spices and melted cheese. It’s enchiladas, just as he requested. Veronica grimaces but pushes the container into the microwave anyway.</p><p>“Can’t you at least try to look excited?”</p><p>“I would if I knew for sure that I’d be able to climb up those hundred something steps that take you up to the actual event,” Jughead argues.</p><p>That’s a lie and she knows it too. He was nowhere near enthusiastic when she made him go with her two years ago. Her ex-husband was dating a Victoria Secret’s model who had recruited Alexander Wang to dress them for their society debut as a couple. For the most part, Veronica did a good job of concealing her enmity. Not the same could be said about her glee when she discovered that they wound up on several of the worst dress lists. Jughead never even had to ask for a copy of the picture, come the following week she mailed a framed photo of them dressed to the nines in Oscar de la Renta to his office and planted another on his chest of drawers. It was supposed to inspire him to be as impeccably dressed as he was that evening when he gets ready every morning. </p><p>“Oh, you’ll be,” she says flippantly, “If not, I’ll get someone to install a matching ramp and I’ll wheel you there myself.”</p><p>He thinks it’s endearing that she’s making the effort to step into a domesticated role that’s usually his. He was always the one topping up her wine, cooking them dinner, and washing the dishes. Now, it’s her trying to shovel a couple of enchiladas onto his plate without dripping sauce all over the carpet. Veronica’s capable of anything but finding her way around the kitchen and maybe, children. The gossip rags cited her “refusal to produce an heir” as the reason for the divorce. She never commented on it but if it’s true then Tom Cushing is an idiot because Veronica’s worth a hundred times more than the promise of an heir could ever be. </p><p>Veronica sets the plate down before him, complete with matching cutleries. “Now eat up before your dinner gets cold.”</p><p>Jughead fidgets with the silver and lets her go on. He can always tell she’s got clothes on her mind whenever that dreamy look passes over her face.  </p><p>“I was thinking a raisin brown suede suit with bolted, metallic detailing around the breast pocket,” she says rousingly before her behind could even hit the seat, “And a crisp white shirt underneath for a classic touch but with an open collar to keep it from being too simple.”</p><p>It already sounds ridiculous.</p><p>“Have they even announced the theme?” he asks as he cuts into the corn tortilla.</p><p>She smiles smugly and crossed one leg over her knee. “No, but I have it in good authority that it will be futuristic western.”</p><p>“Um…are we talking more like Barbarella or space cowboy?”</p><p>She hums dubiously. “A bit of both.”</p><p>These days, Veronica’s over at his by six on the dot and doesn’t leave until late, if she does at all. He never has to ask her to stay, she just does. Sometimes he thinks she picked up all his tells from that one summer when they drove across the country together. Today, also, is an overnight kind of day. He can tell by the ivory spaghetti strap that’s poking out of her Hermes tote that she’s packed a nightgown.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to eat?”</p><p>Veronica shakes her head and pulls apart the pussy bow that’s tied around the base of her neck. “No, I had a late luncheon after my meeting. Paul from finance took me to the Polo Bar.”</p><p>“Of course, he did,” Jughead makes sure to mumble quietly enough that she wouldn’t catch it.</p><p>Paul from finance has been trying to date Veronica for the last six months. He’s pretty sure that she has no interest in going any further than lunch and light flirting but he knows how she likes to string them along for an ego boost.</p><p>“I heard that,” he thinks she’s trying to tell him off but if anything she sounds amused, “I like the Polo Bar. They make a fantastic brownie sundae.”</p><p>Jughead huffs a small laugh. “When was the last time you had a brownie <em>or</em> a sundae?”</p><p>Veronica shushes him when she stands up, then wander over to the drink cart. He didn’t notice until she turns that her top is technically a halter neck. The smooth olive skin of her back taunts him and the thin strip of white silk is only enough to wrap around her lower torso. No wonder Paul from finance picks today of all days to take her out for lunch. He looks away and tries to take a stab at what she’s drinking tonight, he’d say she’s making herself a margarita. It’s about that time of the evening and it goes well with dinner. He watches her overpour the tequila and shakes his head a little before turning back to his meal.</p><p>“Oh, I almost forgot! I’ve got a present for you.”</p><p>Jughead tries to glare through the book when she shoves it in his line of sight.</p><p>“Not funny,” he tells her warningly.</p><p>“It is to me,” Veronica says sing-song-like as she aimlessly flips through the pages before tossing it on the coffee table, “I will never understand your deep, undying hatred for Dan Brown.”</p><p>“You don’t have to understand,” Jughead scowls and stabs into his food, “You just have to restrain yourself from torturing me by buying me his new book.”</p><p>“But honey, torturing each other is our thing.”</p><p>At that, he nearly chokes on the cheesy clump of meat. Veronica smooths down her pencil skirt as she balances her backside on the armrest of his wheelchair and takes the fork out of his hand.</p><p>“I don’t have to feed you now, do I?” she teases, her voice low and coy. Then feeds herself some of his dinner.</p><p>She used to steal his fries, now it’s bleach-stained t-shirts to sleep in and Mexican food to snack on. How far they’ve come.</p><p>A snarky retort is at the tip of his tongue but Jughead swallows it down with the rest of his meal when he catches sight of his gangly neighbour, kneeling on the floor of her living room with her face buried in her hands, her hair cascading over her shoulders like gold spun curtain and the gem on her ring finger winks at him from across the busy street. Like the last few days, she is again four layers too rugged up for the sticky spring weather. Veronica babbles distantly besides him – he hears a bit of ‘new girl at the office’ and ‘monochromatic” and maybe “mismatched Valentino shoes,” but mostly he hears what he imagines to be the cogs turning in his neighbour’s mind.</p><p>Finally, Veronica says, “You’re not listening, are you?”</p><p>“No,” Jughead confesses and signals at her to move. She begrudgingly obliges, allowing him to wheel himself closer to the window.</p><p>“Not this again,” she scolds from behind him, “Jughead, you need to stop with the pretend espionage.”</p><p>He clasps her wrist and pulls her down to his level. “Look”</p><p>“Is that – “ Veronica mouth falls open then shut again, probably to gather her thoughts, “She’s moving the trunk.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This took a while to put together but I'm pretty happy about it! There's a lot of time jumps going on but it's basically split across three periods of time in their lives: when they first left Riverdale, Jughead and Veronica over the years after her divorce, and the present where Jughead's neighbour is acting increasingly suspicious. </p><p>Thank you SO MUCH for all the kudos and comments you guys left on the first chapter x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Speeding out of town together was a good idea until they realised that they were never friends. The “core four” was one giant cover-up for two lovers to hang tight until they were ready to take the plunge. Unfortunately, they weren’t the lovers. They were the pair of idiots that were taken for a ride.  </p><p>It didn’t help that Veronica found something wrong in everything he did. She hated his music, hated the way he drove, hated the flannels he wore, hated how much leg room he took up at every stop they made. Jughead tried not to hold it against her, if anything he ignored her and kept doing all those things she hated. He acknowledged very early on that despite her sangfroid veneer, Veronica was boiling over on the inside. She took the breakup much harder than he did. It probably had something to do with the fact that he’d always known his rightful place and she didn’t. It wasn’t so much the breakup that she was grappling with, it was the fact that she’d lost out to sweet, plain, homely Betty Cooper. He’d always known that somewhere between best friends and forever was a smug ‘V trumps B.’ Archie was the clincher. In the end, the boy next door had tipped the scale so far that it had toppled over and crushed Veronica.</p><p>After two days and nights of her bitching and moaning over the slightest of movement, Jughead decided that he’d had enough and spent the money he’d made off his bike on a motel room. It was grubby and dusty but he’d let her have the bed and took the fold-out couch so she didn’t complain. Veronica was considerably nicer after that, especially when she asked if they could stay a bit longer and he told her ‘yes.’</p><p>Whenever Jughead reminiscence about that summer (which happens to be a lot), he can’t remember the dull ache of betrayal or the taunting memories of golden hair and half-moon smile. Instead, he remembers Veronica lying on her front in a pair of cut-off jean shorts, her red pedicures glimmering at him from across the bed as they lay there watching black and white cartoons. He still dreams about it every once in awhile – how she licked beer froth off her cupid bow, the freeing sound of her laughter as she danced around the balcony to Fleetwood Mac, the way she cried over Betty and Archie and Riverdale with her whole body and how her tears felt wet on his shoulder as he held her until she fell asleep.</p><p>Years later, she would drag him to a Hampton’s wedding and they would share a room for the first time since that summer. She joked about it, said they can share a bed this time around, and they actually did for the rest of that weekend. They traded up from cartoons to TCM, raspberry twisters to pints of Häagen-Dazs, a six-pack of beer to a couple of bottles of Moët &amp; Chandon, a single bed to a king-size one, heartbroken teenagers to lonely adults.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Okay, but being weird is not a tangible proof of guilt.”</p><p>“You call taking your wife’s suitcase out for a walk ‘weird’ and not suspicious?” Jughead asked, sarcasm laced in his voice as he adjusts the lens of his camera.</p><p>He doesn’t need to glance Veronica’s way to know she’s rolling her eyes as they speak. “And you think what you’re any better with what you’re doing? It’s unethical!”</p><p>“The woman could have murdered someone, Veronica”</p><p>She makes a small, displeased noise from beside him but doesn’t make any further remarks about the scene they’ve been observing. It’s been about fifteen minutes since the blonde had left her apartment with the trunk. The two of them silently watched from the window as she wrestled with the clunky case, almost dropping it on her foot at some point. Jughead figured that she would have had to load that thing into a car to take it anywhere that isn’t in the five miles radius. He saw how much she struggled to get herself and the suitcase out the door so whatever’s in there must have packed a fair bit of weight. Although the woman is quite small, she couldn’t have been much bigger than Veronica.</p><p>“I don’t think she’s coming back anytime soon,” Veronica suggests. She expels a heavy sigh as she hops onto her feet and walks over to tug the blinds shut, “I think you’ve done enough stalking for the day – “</p><p>“Get back”</p><p>She narrows her eyes at him and put both hands on her hips. That was her body language for “<em>don’t you try me.</em>”</p><p>“Move back here unless you want her to see that we’re watching,” Jughead says warningly, giving her wrist a firm yank that sends her tumbling onto his lap. She huffs at him in disapproval while he wheels them backward into the shadows.</p><p>He can tell even in the darkness that she’s glaring at him but not for long. He manoeuvres her around so she can share the same peculiar view that he’s witnessing through his camera. She wiggles around distractedly and Jughead has to think of that one time he walked in on his grandma, stark-naked in the shower to keep his blood from rushing south.</p><p>“Okay, great she’s home,” Veronica mutters sourly as she watches the woman clumsily stagger into her living room with the same trunk that she’d left with, “Good to see that she’s no longer fumbling with that chest like a complete idiot.”</p><p>“That’s because she probably emptied it.”</p><p>“You said the suitcase is her wife’s, yes?” she asks in an almost bored tone.</p><p>“I don’t know for sure but it looks like it,” he replies and adjusts his lens so he could get a closer look at what the woman is doing to the trunk. Unfortunately for him, she’s giving him nothing but a deeply etched frown as she stares down at the damning baggage.</p><p>“Well, it can’t be and even if it was, she couldn’t have packed it with air travel in mind.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because,” she starts but pauses in agitation as he shifts her a little to his left, “That suitcase alone probably takes up more than half of the maximum weight limit for a checked luggage. No airline would allow that plus whatever her wife had stuffed into it to be loaded onto the plane.”</p><p>“Maybe that’s why she ditched it,” Jughead proposes as she observes his neighbour disappears behind the couch, dragging the chest with her.</p><p>“Maybe” Veronica sounds unconvinced, “But that doesn’t explain why you’d ever take a suitcase without a lock on it. How impractical. Not to mention risky.”</p><p>That is true. He’d seen the trunk from nearly every angle now and not once did he catch a glimpse of a lock. He has to admit that Veronica raises a good point that the lack of extra protection is highly unusual, especially for someone who’s always travelling. He distantly recalls hearing from the nice old lady across the road that the woman is a recruiter and a frequent interstate flyer. It’s either that she’s reckless enough to forego a padlock or she’d removed it at some point, knowing that she wouldn’t be embarking on her trip with the chest. Still, there’s no denying how strange it is that her spouse drove it out somewhere and returned with it too.</p><p>The sharp intake of Veronica’s breath startles him out of his thought. “Oh my god, is that a knife?”</p><p>It is indeed. Jughead rips the camera away from his face. He doesn’t need to use the zoom to see the bony hand that’s sticking out from behind the couch with its fingers tightly coiled around the wooden handle of butcher’s knife. There are specks of dried blood dotting the blade and he’s willing to bet that they didn’t belong to her.</p><p>“So,” Jughead runs his tongue over his front teeth, then ducts his head next to her ear, “Still not suspicious?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Veronica’s pouring herself her third cocktail of the evening. When: “I think we should call the cops.”</p><p>“And say that?” Jughead asks dully and looks up from the sudoku he’s been working on, “We saw her take a knife out of there, that’s it. It could mean anything.”</p><p>“Jug,” she snaps and throws back her martini, “It was covered in blood! The woman ran to her kitchen sink with it like she’s getting billed per hour to clean murder weapons.”</p><p>Jughead sighs and wheels towards the window. His neighbour is spending her night in front of the television with a glass of whiskey and Chinese food. She looks significantly less strung-out than she’d been all of last week. In a very Veronica-like manner, she’d pass comment on how much “shinier” her hair looks now that she’d bother to take a bath. “<em>An improvement on that dirty, clumpy topknot she’d been sporting for four days, at least</em>,” she had remarked cattily in between sips of her drink. He also notices that the air conditioning is no longer cranked up like it’d been for the last few days. He could tell because she’d traded her thermal layers in for a wife beater and a pair of gingham cotton shorts. “<em>She totally got that whole outfit from Brandy</em>,” Veronica added as if that was a point of interest.</p><p>“We’re just going to have to wait until we catch her do something…damning.”</p><p>“That could take weeks,” Veronica half-screeches, half-yelps, “Maybe months! We’ve got to call someone now or she’s going to get away with it. Or worse, she’s going to find a new victim to sharpen her knife on!”</p><p>She must have worn herself out with that panic-induced rant because she flops onto the couch like a ragged doll, nearly tipping some of the vodka onto his carpet. Jughead considers making the ultimate sacrifice by suggesting that they tune into tonight’s episode of 'RuPaul’s Drag Race.' Maybe that will lull her into a state of relaxation. But then Veronica jolts upright and begins to dig through her Celine purse like one of the fresh hires at her magazine:</p><p>“I have a splendid idea!” she chirps, having regained some of her spirits, “Tom is friendly with some of the guys that work for the NYPD. I’ll just ask him for a number to call.”</p><p>Of course, is there any pie left on this fucking island that her ex-husband doesn’t have his finger in? Animosity aside, Jughead has to admit that it’s not entirely a bad idea.</p><p>“Make sure he gets a detective,” Jughead mumbles in a poor attempt to hide his disdain, “A desk work jockey isn’t going to be much use to us or whatever is going on in that apartment.”</p><p>It’s only a split second later that her screen lights up and a tinny ‘ding’ noise reverberates off her iPhone. Veronica chews a layer of crimson off her lips and does that thing where she screws up her eyes because the punctuation of the message displeases her.</p><p>“Well, this certainly throws a wrench into our plans for the night. Tom says we better meet for drinks to talk about this,” Veronica mutters and glances down at her Cartier as she shoves her feet into the pair of nude Manolos she’d kicked off earlier when she arrived, “I think I should be able to make it to Carbones in ten if I call a cab now.”</p><p>Much to his own surprise, Jughead doesn’t resent Tom. If anything, he’s learned to be grateful for Tom because had he not divorced Veronica, he highly doubts that their friendship would have gotten so intimate. Still, he couldn’t help but dislike the man whenever he reaches out and expects Veronica to show at a specific Olive Garden at a specified time. He’s always despised entitled people but he despised them that much more when they take advantage of another’s sense of duty. For as long as he could remember, Veronica’s always been loyal to a fault, and a little too forgiving. Betty kissed Archie and it was “we all have a moment of weakness.” Her ex-husband forgot that he agreed to let her use their holiday home for a dinner party and it was “well, there’s always next summer.” It doesn’t help that she feels forever indebted to Tom for, as she likes to put it, sparing her from an atonement period with the bourgeoisie.</p><p>“You look fine,” Jughead says drolly as he watches her frantically combs the non-existent knots out of her hair with her fingers.</p><p>“Just fine?” Veronica baits, grinning at him cheekily after painting on a fresh coat of lipstick.</p><p>“You look pristine,” he mutters begrudgingly but feels himself mollifies when he sees her beam at her reflection in the powder compact, “I take it that this means you’re not sleeping over?”</p><p>“Carbones is a ten-minute walk away from mine, so…” she pauses to fumble around the countertop for a napkin to blot her lips with, “We’ll take a rain check?”</p><p>Jughead gives her a muted nod, praying that she’s too absorbed in all the preening to notice his agitation. He knows he’s irrationally discouraged by Veronica’s departure. He sees her basically every day now, so what’s a night apart in the grand scheme of things? He decides to chalk the severity of his reaction to his immobile state. That must be it; all this free time is slowly but surely driving him stir crazy. The last time he had this little to do with himself was the summer before Jason Blossom vanished.</p><p>“Oh and<em> please</em>, do try to remember that Josie is swinging by tomorrow at three for a visit. I couldn’t move my meeting so I’ll get here a little later.”</p><p>He narrows his eyes. “How late is later?”</p><p>“No later than six,” Veronica replies swiftly and plants an even swifter kiss on the top of his cheek before rushing out the door, “Don’t sleep too late, and don’t forget to take your medications!”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead watches the lonely, widow that lives across the street to keep himself occupies. He knows that’s what most would classify ‘creepy’ but he feels some affinity towards the moon-faced brunette ever since Veronica made a passing remark that the woman reminded her of her mother. Jughead hasn’t seen his mother in close to six years because she’s a con-artist that’s not above cheating her own children out of money. Veronica hasn’t seen hers since the night they fled Riverdale because Hermione Lodge is technically a fugitive who’s gone into hiding in Switzerland.</p><p>Veronica mentions Hiram sometimes too but always in a noncommittal way, almost as if the man didn’t try to murder her first love or poison a whole town.</p><p>She drives down to the Connecticut penitentiary three times a year. He didn’t ask for the first couple of years. He figured that she wouldn’t want to talk about how these visits go and if he’s being honest with himself, he liked knowing that her father is rotting away in jail – alone and angry and ashamed like he made his old man. Then some time last year, she called him from the office and asked if he could quickly run over with her folio. She’d crashed the weekend before and left it at his along with a vintage bottle of Guerlain (which ended up taking a permanent residence in his bathroom cabinet anyway). He knows how seriously Veronica takes her privacy but she’d left two folios and they both had “shiny navy plastic cover” just as she’d described to him. He should have taken both but he didn’t, instead, he flicked through them. One was full of annotated drafts and press junkets, The other was stuffed with envelops that had been marked “denied.” They were all addressed to the Connecticut penitentiary and they were all unopened. It took him two more visits after that to gut up and ask her about her dad. Veronica kept mum about it until one day, he caught her ripping out a page from the September issue. She confessed that she’d been mailing Hiram her columns. He never read them, called her job “frivolous” and told her that she should have stayed married because then at least the union would have kept her powerful. Turns out that no iron bar could keep Hiram Lodge from making his only daughter feel unworthy. He knows that she still tries to this very day even if she knows to expect rejection.</p><p>He could always tell when she’s returned from these visits. It wasn’t so much the taut smiles or the glossiness of her eyes. It was always the pearls that give it away. These days, they were the only times that she hung them around her neck like a noose. Looking back, he always thought the necklace to be a pretty shackle that was afforded by luxury.</p><p>Mrs. Lonelyheart, from across the road wears pearls too. Veronica would sometimes sit by the window, pretending to read a Russian novel when she’s really just spying on his neighbour. She makes up these elaborate stories about her late husband and their marriage – how he loved her to the point of devastation, how she always had a vase full of sunflowers on her dining table because that was his favourite flower, how she spent her Sunday mornings doing the New York Times’ crossword as a part of their ritual, how his favourite meal was her eggplant parmigiana and that’s why she only made it once a year on his birthday. He highly doubts that any of that is accurate and most of it is her own projection of what she wishes her parents’ marriage was like. Still, he lets her be because she deserves some romance in her life. Tonight, the widow spends her night washing her hair in the kitchen sink and putting them in Velcro rollers. Well, that’s interesting – she’s dolling herself up but for who? Bored with the lack of action, Jughead turns his attention to the next apartment. The light flicked on and a man and his flavour of the month stumbled in through the door, clearly intoxicated. He’d always suspected that the man is a banker. Veronica agreed but only because of how cheap his cufflinks look and how ill-fitted his shirts are. The girl that he’s sucking face with bears a striking resemblance to his sister; that’s enough to get him to look away. His sips on a glass of Pinot and allows his mind to wander to the last time he saw JB a few months ago. She stood firm on the fact that she’s “not a little girl anymore,” and she’s right because, in many ways, innocence was a hundred light-years away when he was eighteen. By that age, he’d run away from home, twice, ruled a gang that he had no business leading, and stared death in the face more times than he could count. But unlike him, JB was mature – she was primed for an Ivy League school and a controlled-rent apartment that he could afford to pay for. Veronica had been ecstatic to have his sister in New York for two weeks before college commenced and made clear just how much by treating her to a shopping spree at Saks Fifth Avenue. His sister had returned with a “stylish” Ombré and a new set of clothes that Veronica deemed “fall-ready.” They bonded a few years back when JB mysteriously appeared in the foyer of Veronica’s work in a misguided attempt to reach him. The receptionist at Vogue had been in a state of delirium when she gave her that call. Veronica, being the connoisseur of proprietary and pretence that she is, distracted his sister with an extravagant three-day-long “sleepover” and overfed her with Italian food because that was how long it took for him to jet back from New Delhi. They’ve been sort of pen pals ever since.</p><p>Jughead stifles a yawn and rolls himself towards the lamp. He’s about to flick it off when his phone vibrates in his lap. He turns it over lazily, assaulting his tired eyes with a message notification:</p><p><em>“Got home in one piece. Tom talked my ears off but I managed to get a number. I would say goodnight but you better be well and truly asleep by now xxx</em>.”</p><p>The medications are finally kicking in so he pushes away the urge to text her back and falls asleep to the sight of his cagey neighbour, digging up a hole in her wife’s garden.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Josie shows up at quarter to three the next day, which goes to show that she’s a cheap imitation of a New Yorker. He might think that but she’s still the only individual from high school, outside of Veronica, that he willingly tolerates. It’s partially because she’s the only one he’s seen since leaving town, but it’s mainly because she’s a good friend to Veronica. He stills remember the five of them cleaning out a penthouse that was somehow bigger than the Pembrooke’s – Veronica drinking coffee laced vodka as she pretends to be enthusiastic about this “‘transition in life,” Josie cradling a box of Kleenex as she picked out expensive heirlooms that Veronica should ask for in the settlement, Katy separating her closet into a ‘yes’ and ‘no’ piles, her boyfriend and him carrying boxes down the elevator and packing them into a moving truck. It was a miserable, rainy day and Veronica was so poised in her defeat that he got whiplash to the day she got blind drunk that one night after a Bulldog’s victory and told him in some secluded corner on Reggie Mantle’s front lawn that Archie didn’t love her. He’d written it off as an intoxicated mumbo jumbo then, he’d later realise how wrong he’d been about that one.</p><p>He makes none of the usual sarcastic remarks when she walks through his door with a box of ziti pasta that Veronica refuses to feed to him based on the “preposterous amount of carb.”</p><p>“I heard you got nosy again and got yourself whacked,” Josie comments airily as she dumps the oil-soaked cardboard box on his lap.</p><p>Jughead’s practically foaming at the mouth at the sight and the smell of the pizza-pasta combo. “Well, someone’s got to do it for the sake of democracy.”</p><p>Josie rolls her eyes and drops down on the couch, crossing her knees as she slurps down her milkshakes. The sheer amount of junk food in his apartment alone brings him back to Pop’s and unsolved murders.</p><p>“Why are you back anyway?” he asks as he grapples with the excessive amount of melted cheese, “I thought RCA would have you doing mini-tours all over hidden hills after you signed your soul over.”</p><p>She shoots him a glare. “It’s a record deal, Jughead.”</p><p>“I didn’t know there was a difference.”</p><p>“You seriously need to give it a rest with all the conspiracies,” Josie reprimands out of nowhere. Her cluster of expensive bangles jingle noisily as she hops onto her feet and wanders over to the open window, “V told me that you’re now on some neighbourhood watch and you’re fully convinced that the woman living in the next building killed her wife.”</p><p>Of course, Veronica told her.</p><p>“It’s just a theory,” he grumbles and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.</p><p>Jughead squints out his window. Huh, she must have gone out again. That’s odd, she’s been going in and out her apartment at a fifteen-minute interval.</p><p>“Ooh, before I forget to ask, are you going to Archie and Betty’s wedding?”</p><p>He swallows down the lump of carb. “I have no immediate plans for it.”</p><p>Josie turns over her shoulder and quirks a brow. “Why not? Is it because you are afraid of how people back home are going to react when they find out that you and Veronica are a couple?”</p><p>“Veronica and I aren’t a couple,” he tries to sound solid, even if the pit of his stomach tells him otherwise.</p><p><br/>
“Oh, please!”</p><p>“What?” Jughead sputters stupidly.</p><p>“Are you kidding?” Josie groans as if he’s the one exhausting her and not the other way around, “You two are the probably the most domesticated pair of “friends” to ever exist. Even Stevie Wonder would be able to tell that there’s sexual tension there, and it’s been there – for years.”</p><p>He badly wants to deny it but it’s not like Josie would believe him anyway. So he decides that a bit of honesty might help move the conversation along: “They’re going to want Veronica and I to explain ourselves if we show up to that wedding.”</p><p>She gives him a vague but discerning look and leans her weight down on the armrest. He wheels back a little so there’s a comfortable proximity between them.</p><p>“I don’t think you owe them an explanation,” Josie tells him blandly, “Didn’t Betty and Archie technically cheat on you guys, like twice?”</p><p><em>But we ran off together</em>, Jughead almost says but since that’s a given, he shovels his third ziti pasta into his mouth to keep himself from saying any more.</p><p>“Look, Jughead,” she sighs heavily and turns towards him, her hands clenched together oppressively on her lap. He doesn’t even need to decipher her frown to know almost immediately that it’s a bad sign, “I know that you and Veronica have this weird, unspoken connection but if there’s no future here then you should make that clear. I’ve been seeing this record executive - ”</p><p>He can’t help but snort at how stereotypical that is.</p><p>Josie cuts him down with a withering look and he thinks he better keeps his mouth shut until she’s through with whatever it is she has to say.</p><p>“He’s got this friend – he’s really sweet and well-connected and just <em>perfect </em>for her. Maybe they could even go to the wedding together,” she’s gushing now and he envisions some jackass in a three thousand dollar Armani suit with the perfect set of teeth, “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”</p><p>He does but he wishes that he doesn’t. It shouldn’t be a big deal, and it wouldn’t have been if not for the fact that neither of them had been in a real, stable relationship for the last two years. She’s dabbled, albeit casually, in the dating scene. There was that new-money, polo-wearing accountant from a few years ago that resembled a Kennedy and she did almost fall into relation with GQ’s resident lawyer. None of it stuck but the same goes with him. His last girlfriend adored her until she realised that he’d rather Venmo a stranger on the internet two-hundred dollars extra for an emergency red-eye flight to attend a CFDA with Veronica than drive an hour to his so-called girlfriend’s poetry slam. He didn’t mean for it to be that way but it was – and is – that way.</p><p>“Is that her?”</p><p>Jughead snaps out of his train of thought and looks over just in time to catch his neighbour hauls in what looks to be an extra pot of plant.</p><p>“Yeah,” he confirms as he wheels himself to the window, “I saw her out on the balcony late last night. She was digging for space in that mini garden of hers."</p><p>“Um…that’s a rose bed, Jughead.”</p><p>He furrows his brows at her.</p><p>Josie releases a small laugh. “Why would you put a fern in the middle of all those beautiful, red roses?” </p><p>They sit in silence as they watch the scrawny honey blonde place the fern down on her coffee table. She walks over the television and turns it on. Kelly Regis starts spewing some nonsense on the screen but unlike her co-hosts, the woman doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t consider old episodes of ‘The View’ to be a great source of entertainment but his neighbour stands there, watching it until Josie gets bored enough to make them both ramen with whatever she finds in his fridge.</p><p>As it on cue, Veronica breezes through the door at five sharp.</p><p>“I see that he’s now broken out the good ‘ol binoculars for the occasion.”</p><p>Josie cocks her head sheepishly. “I tried to stop him.”</p><p>She didn’t but that’s a discussion for another time.</p><p>“Evening,” Veronica greets ever so sweetly next to his ear and presses a sticky kiss to his temple. He feels Josie’s watchful gaze burns into the back of his skull until Veronica finally pulls away to squeeze the other girl in an affectionate hug.  </p><p>She’s wearing those unnecessary translucent Gucci-monogrammed gloves and a matching eggshell suit with no shirt, just the blazer that’s half a size too big for her petite frame. He hates and loves that colour on her all at once. On the one hand, it reminds him of the dress she wore to her confirmation before her boyfriend and her father started bumping heads. On the other hand, he thinks of a high society wedding that took place a lifetime ago; the one he wasn’t invited to and didn’t attend. Katy showed him pictures four Christmas-ago after a couple of Kahlua-mixed drinks were shared. Veronica was radiant and beautiful and happier than he’d ever seen her.</p><p>“I see we’re still keeping watch on our favourite neighbour,” she drawls coolly from the other side of the room, fussing over his bottles of jack and tonic, “Has she finally cut her losses and slaughter a squirrel?”</p><p>“I’m going to keep it real with you here, V. I think it’s ridiculous – not to mention, super weird – that he’s spending his recovery period, watching his neighbours do whatever it is that they do during their spare time. But…” Josie licks her lips and continues, although reluctantly, “He kinda has a point, girl. Who the fuck does their gardening at two in the morning?”</p><p>Veronica leans over and snatches the binocular from him. She’s got her summertime perfume on – jasmine, cloves, and a sharp edge of mandarin. He tries to conjure an image of a tank top underneath that shoulder-padded jacket she’s wearing but what he’s really thinking of is a lacey, white bralette and – fuck –</p><p>“Hmm…I spoke to this hunky detective this morning and he seems eager to help us crack the case.”</p><p>Jughead imagines for the first time since she’s finalized her divorce, how and what it would be like if she re-married. He admittedly dreads that idea.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Here’s the thing: he knows he’s in love with Veronica. He thinks he must have loved her when they first got to New York, before they even parted ways. Jughead didn’t fall in love with her until some months after the divorce though.</p><p>It happened when she stopped by at his place on Christmas Eve to touch up her nails because she’s got a habit of leaving menial belongings at his. She made her presence known by blowing through his flat and started working through his drawers for the correct shade of varnish.</p><p>Veronica yapped on about some gala she was attending that night, something about raising money for orphans. He was trying to listen over the sound of the six o’clock news. He urgently needed to know if there was a crisis in Yemen and if there was, he would need to ring up his travel agent to swap that out for a trip to Cambodia instead. Then he felt the bed dip and the weight of Veronica next to him, forcing him to look at her – really look at her. She’d let her hair grown to her collar bones during that winter and he had half of it piled on top of her head with the help of a Swarovski barrette. Her lids were covered in a light dusting of glitter and carefully smudged eyeliner. Her gown cocooned her like a blanket of snow. Veronica barely ever wore white, always skimmed over it whenever she was it hanging off the racks at Bergdorf Goodman. It’s the colour of purity, she tells him all the time. What she didn’t say was that she considered her tainted a long time ago, ruined by her parents and Riverdale and a red-headed boy who didn’t love her like he ought to, and an ex-husband that never really knew her. He could think of plenty of other things that she was though (holy and sacred and sublime).</p><p>“Hey,” Jughead muttered as he laid a gentle hand across her lap, skimming over her gloved fingers with his knuckle, “You look beautiful tonight.”</p><p>She was stunned into silence for a brief moment. Then her cherry-stained lips split into a dazzling smile, “I don’t think you’ve ever called me that before.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Beautiful”</p><p>He had, many times before in his head.</p><p>“You sure you don’t want to come?” Veronica asked after a long-drawn minute of standing in front of his mirror and fussing over her appearance, “There’s still time for you to put on a suit if you change your mind.”</p><p>He shook his head ‘no.’ “You go on. I need to catch up on sleep after eighteen hours straight of flying.”</p><p>She gave him a meaningful look and patted his knee instead of pecking him on the cheek like she usually did. “Alright. But I’m coming over tomorrow bright and early so we can watch the House of Cards’ finale.”</p><p>Jughead didn’t sleep after she left his apartment. The boozy smell of designer perfume clung to his sheets so stubbornly that it kept him awake, agonising over the woman he couldn’t afford to lose so he never even thought to try. He attempted to direct his mind elsewhere but it ended up on prom night when she slipped him that note that capsized both their ships. He agonised over that too, how they ran away a week later on the night of his eighteenth birthday. She’d been watching him walk around like a dead man over the days that led up to the moment. She told him that she couldn’t stand the sorry sight of him anymore and how enough was enough and that they were getting out. He was young and stupid to think their friends’ betrayal had been worth dying for. No, the real tragedy would have been if he’d never left with Veronica. Then he would have never known what it was like to lie next to her in the backseat of his dad’s beat-up truck or the annoyed sound she made whenever she finished a good book but hated the ending or share secret jokes at expensive dinner parties he didn’t care to be at but only attended because she asked. Jughead felt every cell of his being seize up at that thought because it also meant that he would have never fallen in love –</p><p>He was in love with Veronica.</p><p>That epiphany didn’t scare him. Instead, it settled in his chest and soothed the aching that he’d grown familiar with over the years. Nothing had changed, it was there and he knew it would always be.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted this chapter to be a temporary break from all the action/mystery that's about to come so here, have 7k words of adult!Jeronica navigating their boujee lifestyle in NYC and being in denial about their feelings lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The detective shows up on a Friday evening, covered in rain and Paco Rabanne. The man’s a broad and brawny specimen and bears a striking resemblance to Moose Mason with Jason Blossom’s colouring. For all those reasons, Jughead takes an immediate dislike to him.</p><p>Veronica has a knack of playing hostess even outside of her own home so naturally, she tells the man to “make himself comfortable” and fetches him a Budweiser that Jughead wasn’t even aware he had in the icebox.</p><p>The sleaze eyes Veronica appreciatively as she hands him his drink and mutters a gruff ‘thank you’ before following that charming display of decorum with an equally charming line: “I can see why Tom gave you both the Kruger and the Warhol in the settlement.”</p><p>“Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say,” she smiles back at him cordially as she props herself up against the window sill, “Although if you know Tom then you know he lacks an appreciation for any artistic endeavours. We both know that he only purchased them to appease me.”</p><p>“Yes,” the detective concurs and throws one leg over his knee, “I can see why he’d do that too.” The man takes a generous sip of his beer, then motions to him like an afterthought, “So, Veronica tells me that you’ve witnessed some suspicious activities from your neighbour, Mister uh – “</p><p>Veronica speedily chimes in with a ritzy introduction that doesn’t fit the name or the person. “Oh yes, this is Mister Forsythe Pendleton Jones, the third, but everyone calls him Jughead,”</p><p>“Jughead,” rolls off his tongue like a too sour sherbet, “That’s a new one.”</p><p><em>Still better than Jeff,</em> Jughead thinks to himself snidely, <em>what a</em> <em>fucking pedestrian name.</em></p><p>“I know it’s not common,” he acknowledges tartly and wheels himself around to face the fogged-up window, “About the neighbour…she’s been coming and leaving at all hours of the day with some kind of trunk. I suspect it’s her wife’s, who’s never to be seen again after I woke up to the melodic sound of a blood-curdling scream.”</p><p>The man gives him an incredulous look and impatiently, he asks, “That’s it?”</p><p>“No, there’s more,” Jughead assures, “She left late in the afternoon and after a couple of minutes of struggling with the trunk, she managed to drag it out the door. Twenty-minute later, she comes back with the same trunk, except this time it was much lighter and when she opened it up, there were a whole set of bloody knives in there.”</p><p>That got Jeff’s attention. The detective gently puts his beer down on a rounded coaster and takes a few purpose strides to reach the spot beside Veronica. She dutifully moves aside to give him a clearer view of the building and the people in it. He has a feeling the man would prefer it if she’d stay put.</p><p>“That her?” he asks and points at the room that’s directly across from his and one floor below.</p><p>Jughead nods affirmatively.</p><p>“Looks like it’s laundry day over there,” he remarks passively.</p><p>The blonde’s shuffling around her apartment, folding and unfolding a stash of clothes that look a size or two too big to fit right on her bony frame.</p><p>Veronica must have noticed it too because she glides over, fitting herself between the two of them as she says. “All those shirts are far too big for her, don’t you think?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know anything about that. You’re talking to a man who buys three of the same thing,” Jeff says with a playful edge to his voice, “Where’s this trunk you’re talking about?”</p><p>Jughead feels around the side table for his binocular and holds it to his line of sight. “She must have moved it.”</p><p>The auburn-haired man quirks his brow at the specs and hammers in the mockery with a matching smirk. Jughead imagines smushing that smug mug of his into the glass.</p><p>Veronica intervenes and lays a small hand to the stiff line of Jeff’s shoulder. “Mister Cosgrove – “</p><p>“Please, call me Jeff.”</p><p>“Jeff,” she repeats after him, albeit reproachfully. Jughead can tell from her tightening smile that the excessive flirting is becoming tiresome, “Do you see that rose bed on her balcony?”</p><p>Jeff nods obligingly but he’s willing to bet that the man is too busy dressing Veronica down with his eyes to actually check to see if the plants are there.</p><p>“Look,” the raven beauty guides him closer to the window, “As you can see, the space was clearly meant for roses but two days ago, Jughead caught her digging up a perfectly healthy rose only to replace it the next day with a fern. Don’t you think it a bit odd to have a single fern amongst a bed of roses?”</p><p>Jeff shrugs carelessly. “Maybe the woman wants to start planting ferns. Nothing wrong with that if you ask me.”</p><p>“Right but the rose bed is clearly her wife’s work,” Veronica insists, giving the man’s bicep a firm, coaxing squeeze, “You seem like a man with tact, Jeff. Don’t you think it would irritate any woman to find that her spouse has recklessly plowed through her garden and kill off all her flowers?”</p><p>“Oh come on, it’s one fern. How much trouble could that be?”</p><p>“It’s not just one fern,” she argues, frustration seeping into her voice, “And those aren’t just any roses. They’re dog-roses and you can’t just use any fertilisation for it. You can tell by the different height of the plants that the woman has clearly taken the fern straight out of whichever pot it originally came in and dumped it into the rose bed.”</p><p>The detective gives Veronica a long-hard look. It only takes him a minute to realise that she’s not going to back down on her speculation and like most men do when they come up against a woman of her tenacity, it takes him less than a minute to do what he’s told. Jeff shoots him a wry look and twitches his fingers at the binocular as a silent request to borrow it. He doesn’t want to hand it over but well, he’s no detective and the man does carry a badge.</p><p>“Alright, so there’s a shoddily plodded fern sitting in a rose bed,” Jeff declares a few seconds later, his green eyes darting back and forth between the two of them in laughable perplexity, “So what?”</p><p>“So she could have buried something under there?” Jughead offers blandly, “Something like one of those knives we saw her take out from the chest.”</p><p>“And where is this chest you’ve been going on about?” the man scoffs a mocking laugh and dumps the binocular on his lap, “Look, I can see why you two find the woman’s behaviour suspicious, but that’s the opinions of two strangers who have witnessed a series of things through the windows of their living room’s apartment. Your personal feelings about what she does on a day to day basis are not facts – they’re just gut feelings.”</p><p>“But what about the knives?” Veronica adds without missing a beat. </p><p>“Owning an extensive collection of kitchen utensils doesn’t point to murder. It points to an experienced cook who enjoys working with a good set of tools,” Jeff reasons with a hint of arrogance as he swaggers back to the couch and snatches his beer off the coffee table, “Now I’m not saying that the woman isn’t guilty but there is simply not enough information here for me to call for a formal investigation. I’ll be sure to  run some background checks and find out the wife’s whereabouts but that’s about all I can do.”</p><p>Jughead watches in stony silence as the scrawny blonde chops up a bunch of scallions into thin, circular rings. Some kind of bone broth is cooking on the stove and there’s a packet of rice noodles lying on the kitchen counter along with a bottle of chili oil. A nice home cook meal for a nice homebound murderer.</p><p>“Isn’t there something else you can do? Maybe you could search her apartment for a possible lead?”</p><p>He doesn’t have to look to know that she’s turned on the charm in an attempt to cajole Jeff into going beyond his reach. That was one of the many things that used to unnerve him about Veronica – how she managed to always get her way in just about everything.</p><p>“A potential lead to a currently a non-existent crime? I don’t think so,” Jeff sighs, pausing only to take a sip of his lukewarm drink. The detective clasps an unexpected hand to his shoulder and snivels, keeping his voice low so only he would catch it, “Feel free to call me if you catch your neighbour do anything more outwardly incriminating, but make sure it’s more than a fucking fern, yeah?”</p><p>He pulls away and Jughead thinks about all the other detectives in this city and how they managed to end up with the most obnoxious one of them all.</p><p>Jeff turns to Veronica with a smarmy smile that makes his stomach turn. “I’ll be sure to call you if I find anything but until then, I’m going to have to advise that you folks maintain your distance,” he flashes even more of those pearly white teethes and makes a joke, unaware that it’s in poor taste to those on the receiving end of it, “Unless, of course, you’re willing to risk a lawsuit on the account of stalking and harassment.”</p><p>Veronica expels a weak little laugh but her darkened gaze conveys the shared sentiment of “<em>go fuck yourself</em>.”</p><p>“Could I ask that you call here rather than my personal cell? You see, I’ve got a rather busy work schedule and Jughead here, in his state, would probably be easier to reach,” she speaks so candidly even if her voice maintains a sugary trill of a socialite under attack, “Besides, I wouldn’t want Claire to get the wrong idea.”</p><p>Jughead gathers from her pointed tone and the ring around Jeff’s fourth finger that Claire is the wife.</p><p>The man nods his head woodenly. “As you wish.”</p><p>Later when Veronica disappears into the other room to fetch a pen and paper to jot down his number, Jeff thinks it appropriate to ask: “So, the two of you…?”</p><p>“No, nothing like that,” Jughead refutes the presumption rather quickly after he catches his drift, “I guess you could say that we were high school friends of sorts.”</p><p>Jeff’s paper-thin lips fold into an uneven snigger as he lets out a wolf whistle. “Well, she’s certainly the type of woman you’d leave a fiancé for.”  </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“It’s karma!” Veronica exclaimed, her eyes half-sleep and her mouth slow, “That’s what it is!”</p><p>That was probably the point of the night when Jughead should have stopped her from ordering another round. In all fairness, he had no experience in being the new divorcee on the block. He didn’t know how many shots of fireball it would take to jumpstart the healing process. It had been less than a month since Veronica and Tom agreed to go their separate ways and it had been less than a week since she started looking for a new place. It had also been more than three months and less than six since he’d last seen her for lunch. She didn’t give any indication then that there was trouble in paradise but that was Veronica for you; brave in the face of adversity.</p><p>“I should have learned from the Barchie debacle,” she slurred and the couple name sounded more like barf than anything, “I took Archie from Betty, so they had no choice but to cheat on the both of us to find their way back to each other!”</p><p>“Or they could have simply broken up with us?” Jughead suggested dryly, “Come on, Veronica, stop with the pity party – this isn’t you – “</p><p>Veronica pressed a finger onto his lips, almost toppling over while doing so. She made a shushing sound and made him wait for her to do the shot.</p><p>“Now what was I saying before I was <em>soooo </em>rudely interrupted,” it was a showy monologue, even for her, “Right, yes, what comes around goes around. You see, I took Tom from his beloved fiancé and now I’m suffering god’s punishment.”</p><p>Years of day-drinking with locals across the globe had taught him that you’d rather slow and steady than quick and queasy. So he sipped at his shot like a pansy and thought he’d remind her that: “Veronica, you said you resented Christ less than an hour ago. Which is it?”</p><p>“Fine, whatever,” she waved him off and wobbled some more, “The universe is screwing me around because I refused to learn my lesson the first time around. You should never, and I mean<em> never</em>,” he would laugh at her for nearly falling out of her chair if it wasn’t for her deeply misguided speech, “Take what isn’t yours, no matter how much that thing insists that you grab it by the horns.”</p><p>“Thing?”  he arched an amused brow, “I’m not the biggest fan of Archie either after everything that’s happened but calling him a ‘thing’ is a bit far, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Shut up!” Veronica snapped, “You know what I mean.”</p><p>“Veronica,” Jughead sighed as his hand shot out to hold hers. He told himself that it was to offer some stability to all the drunken rocking she was doing in her seat but they both knew she could do with a little human comfort right now, “People don’t belong to other people. Not unless they want to.”</p><p>She stared at him blankly. He hoped that the thought might have been sobering to her but instead, she squinted at him and asked, “Are you sure your degree is in journalism and not unhelpful philosophy?”</p><p>Jughead jerked his hand away and chastised her with a pointed glare; it worked well enough at shutting her right up. He didn’t bother pretending that he considered leaving, they were both way too old for those games now. He tried it a couple of times during that summer but it quickly got predictable. Veronica had always been too proud to ask anyone to stay, especially when she knew there was a mutual understanding that they were tangled for life the moment they sped pass that badly graffitied ‘<em>Welcome to Riverdale’</em> sign. Veronica licked her lips to taste the last of the whiskey and signalled the bartender for another drink. He didn’t have the heart to tell her ‘no’ so he ordered the same.</p><p>“What if I never find anyone?” she sounded so much like a child that she never had the chance to be. She looked it too with her face bare of makeup and hair scrunched into a bun that was a little too messy to be a styling choice.</p><p>Jughead found himself clenching and unclenching his jaw because he was so unusually nervous to tell her what he truly thought at that moment and he didn’t quite understand why that was the case. “You don’t strike me as someone who needs anyone anyway.”</p><p>“You might be right about that,” she agreed pensively and hung her head, “But it’s nice to know that you’re needed, and who needs me? Archie’s only ever needed Betty, and Tom,” she paused to fiddle with the hem of her turtleneck, “Well, Tom has always wanted me – he still does – but he doesn’t need me – and I mean, what for? He’s a Cushing, for fuck’s sake! He’s the man with everything and more.”</p><p>“Ronnie,” he’d never called her that before, not since high school anyway. That led him to the conclusion that he must have been tipsier than he initially thought, “I needed you.”</p><p>Veronica snapped her head up so fast that he was afraid she might have pulled a muscle. Where the hell was that drink?</p><p>Jughead glanced away wearily, swallowing the baseball-size lump in his throat before he could bear to continue, “I needed you in so many more ways than I could count and you were there. I didn’t have to ask, I didn’t even have to say a single word but somehow you knew that I needed to get away from the revolving door that was Riverdale and everything in it,” he tried to sniff back a wry chuckle but it escaped him anyway, “Honestly, sometimes I think about that night and it still baffles me that you of all people knew that I needed a fresh start before I even knew I needed one.”</p><p>Veronica pressed her lips into a flimsy but tender smile just in time for the drinks to arrive. She held up the glass and waited for him to do the same before clinking the rims together and tossing it all back in one, fearless gulp.</p><p>“Well, I think it might just be my turn to need you.”</p><p><br/>
He doesn’t remember much else of that night.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Veronica almost burns down the kitchen trying to make a quinoa-based meal, so they end up ordering from Panda Express.</p><p>He could tell it was a bad idea when he heard her aggressively swishing two cups of soggy grains in the pan and stirring a cup of gluten-free ranch in with what looked like tomato chutney. It’s sweet that she wants to try but she’s always been hopeless in the kitchen. She tried her hand at a pumpkin pie last fall and nearly sent him to the hospital for food poisoning.</p><p>“I don’t want you taking a peek before I give you permission,” Veronica calls out from behind the bathroom door, “I mean it! I’ll be crossed with you if I find out that you have your eyes opened.”</p><p>Jughead bites back a groan and waits, although impatiently. He’s about to yell at her to <em>‘hurry up’</em> when he hears the springy padding of her footstep as she glides into the bedroom.</p><p>“You may look now.”</p><p>His hands drop away from his eyes and the medications have made him drowsy enough that his sight takes a few minutes to adjust to the vision before him. He’d spent years trying to figure out if he loves or hates how brazen she could be at times. He thinks he knows now that he’s never figuring that one out.</p><p>Jughead clears his throat in lieu of making a bumbling noise that he thought left him when puberty did.</p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p>It’s a trick question of sort because he thinks any male specimen would like the sight of Veronica Lodge covered in scraps of champagne satin. She gives him a twirl and he catches the deep, drastic V in the back that matches the front of the dress. The dip doesn’t stop until it reaches the curve of her spine, skimming the luscious curves of her pert bottom. The sleeves are gauzy and sheer and he idly wonders why fashion dictates such useless but tantalizing details.</p><p>Somehow, he manages to choke out: “What’s the occasion?”</p><p>“No occasion,” she says coolly, “I just thought I’d get your approval before I put my name to it.”</p><p>Veronica looks triumphant as she angles her limbs in a series of stylish poses. He has to strain his brain to stop his thoughts from landing in the gutter.</p><p>She swishes the billowy skirt coyly. “So, what’s the verdict? La Perla needs to know before the end of the month if it’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ for the Veronica Lodge model.”</p><p>“Since when did you venture into the lingerie business?”</p><p>“Since they came calling,” Veronica quips smartly as she floats towards the bed.</p><p>“I see,” Jughead replies stoically and glances away as she moulds into the mattress, her tanned legs peeking out from the sheer material as she climbs in next to him, “I’m sure both the wives and the mistresses will run to their nearest department store to make the purchase.”</p><p>Veronica plucks her reading glasses off the nightstand and a copy of Duras’ ‘<em>Lover</em>.’ The figurative significance of the moment doesn’t elude him. They’ve been doing a lot more of this as of recently. <em>This</em>, being her suddenly having a permanent ‘side’ in his bed and silently reading beside him before one of them asks for the light off. They don’t touch during their sleep but he thinks they’re edging closer with every night that she stays over.</p><p>“I supposed that does cover every demographic there is to cover,” she says with an airy chuckle, “Except for you.”</p><p>He scoffs, drumming his fingers over his kneecap. “Why do I feel like I should be apologizing for not having a woman I can subject to being skimpily-clad in my honour?”</p><p>Jughead hears a soft ‘thud’ and much to his surprise, it isn’t his heart. His eyes land on the first-edition, pages splayed over the navy Egyptian cotton sheets that she favoured over what she called ‘scratchy, thermal.’ He can’t see any dog-ears this time and he’s relieved because he would hate to fight over that. He thinks that he should tell her to pick it up before the binding is forever damaged but he finds himself loss of words when she leans in close enough for him to feel the heat of her skin and the slight tackiness of her body cream. The sheets slide dangerously down her thighs while the silk slides off her shoulder.</p><p>Veronica grins at him as a single curl flops over her eye. He has a feeling he’s seen this look before even if it was never aimed at him.   </p><p>“Well,” she licks her lips and edges over until the bed creaks underneath them, “You can always try subjecting me.”</p><p>Jughead swallows painfully, his throat constricting at how dry it’s gotten ever since she started playing dress-up. “Veronica, I – “</p><p>He is suddenly conscious over how clammy his palm is as it travels up her arm, unsure if the plan is to move the strap up or unravel it all together. He knows he’s truly left it too long when the echoing of his own ringtone replaces the ringing in his ears. </p><p>Jughead pushes down a whimper when he feels her slip out of his hands. She hops out the bed and made a dash for his phone, vibrating violently against the cherry wood of his chest of drawers.</p><p>“It’s that detective,” she mutters with her gaze glued to the screen, “Should I pick up?”</p><p>He forces himself to give her the nod to go ahead.</p><p>“Hello?” Veronica greets with none of the disappointment he suspects would plague him for days to come as she presses the device to her ear, “No, of course not. I’ll put you on speaker then?”</p><p>Much to his chagrin, Jeff said ‘yes.’</p><p>“Good evening, Mister Jones.”</p><p>“It’s a little late for that greeting, don’t you think?” he scowls.</p><p>“Sorry, I thought you might want to hear this right away,” the man drawls with a touch of mirth, “As promised, I looked up your suspicious friend from across the road and I’m happy to tell you that her wife is splashing around in Hawaiian water with her gal pals for her sister’s bachelorette party.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Jughead asks, unconvinced.</p><p>“I’m sure,” Jeff says shortly, “I checked out your neighbour’s file. Name is Jessica Monroe by the way, the wife is Rita. They’ve been married for almost four years now and while the wife has a couple of speeding tickets, Jessica is clean as a whistle.”</p><p>Veronica, who has been compulsively picking at her manicure up to this point cast him an uncomprehending look. “And you’re a hundred-percent certain that her wife is vacationing in Hawaii?”</p><p>“You can check for yourselves if you want. Her Instagram is unlocked and you’ve got about…” he pauses, humming lowly, “Eight hours until her story expires.”</p><p>“Alright,” Jughead concedes and wipes a hand over his face, “Thanks for having a look.”</p><p>“Just doing my job,” Jeff replies, “Hopefully this means you can give it a rest with the rear window activities. You two have a good night now, and try to stay out of trouble.”</p><p>“Good night,” Veronica mumbles inaudibly into the phone just before the line goes dead. She turns to him afterward, her movement eerily slow and eyes uncharacteristically vacant, “I know this is supposed to be good news but why does it not feel that way?”</p><p><em>Because our teenage trauma has trained us to think the worst of people</em>, Jughead muses but what he says is: “I think it’s about time that you and I admit that we’re a pair of curious cynics.”</p><p>“But what about the fern in the middle of the rose garden? How do you explain that? And the trunk too – “</p><p>“Veronica, stop overthinking. You heard him, the wife is safe and sound in Hawaii with her friends and I’ve made a mountain out of a molehill,” he cuts in before you she could rattle on any more, “Just put the phone down and come back to bed.”</p><p>She hems and haws for a minute. Then heaves a dreamlike sigh and abides by his request, but not without getting in the last word, “Is it just me or is it odd that New York is officially safer for us than Riverdale ever was?”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I’ll call a town car.”</p><p>Jughead rolled his eyes. “Is that really necessary? The place is less than a block away.”</p><p>Veronica gave him a berating look so they ended up taking the town car. He learned very early on that you may not need a town car but in New York, you call for one anyway to show people you can afford to not use your feet.</p><p>They were going to some stiff-necked party on the Upper Eastside. It was meant to be pretentiously exclusive and Veronica convinced him to come for the potential networking opportunities. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t care to make any more friends in higher places. He did enough of that in his early twenties and he was exhausted of feigning laughter and pretending to like champagne. The prospects of moving up the ranks or rubbing shoulders with some flashy new-wave artists didn’t interest him more than caviar did as a garnish. It had. More to do with the fact that Veronica was left dateless after her latest beau, some French chef who owned a Michelin three-star restaurant in Paris, got sick, ironically enough, with a bad case of food poisoning. Jughead had been around her group of “friends” enough times to know that showing up to one of these things without a warm body to fawn over was the social equivalent of bleeding out in shark-infested water.</p><p>Veronica had put him in a slightly oversized and slouchy Raf Simons brown checked suit. She didn’t give him a tie to go with because apparently, “artistic intellectuals get a free pass.” He didn’t own any toe shoes that went with it so she threw a pair of old, scuffed-up oxfords that he wore to his first job interview at him and told him to make it work. Veronica dressed herself in a vintage Chanel number that had too much fabric everywhere and yet there was not to cover her bust area. At least it came with a strip of plum gossamer that wrapped over her lower neck and collar bone. On anyone else, the dress would have been borderline prudish but because it was Veronica, it was flirty – sexy even. She painted her lips a shade of burnt crimson and it made her look like a haughty queen from some faraway land. That was one of the very first things Jughead ever wrote down about her when she first rolled into Riverdale, all wrapped up in a dark cape and illicit family secrets. Not much had changed, except for the fact that she wasn’t too far out of reach anymore. </p><p>"Okay, now,” Veronica started as they stepped into the elevator, and waited for the doors to shut before she continued, “Remember what we talked about in the car?”</p><p>“Heather is still a bitch. Don’t mention Tara’s relapse or her husband’s cheating scandal with that “skank” from <em>Cabaret.</em>”</p><p>She peeked at him through her mascara-coated lashes. “And?"</p><p>Jughead blew out an annoyed breath. “And Yanagihara’s ‘A Little Life’ is not an appropriate topic for a party. Yeah, yeah, I got it.”</p><p>“Good,” Veronica chirped as the lift made a ‘ding’ and they were greeted by a welcoming party that consisted of two maids and a butler who took their coats.</p><p>The place was garish even for a UES penthouse. The walls were lined with felt wallpaper and the foyer was cluttered with sculptures better suited for a haunted castle in New England. He could practically feel Veronica buzzing with judgement next to him as she took his preferred arm and allowed him to lead them into the dining room.</p><p>“Veronica!” an overly dressed and overly coiffed honey blonde cooed, spilling some blanc de Blancs onto the marble floor as she flew to them, “Oh my, you look like perfection.”</p><p>“You know I try,” Veronica accepted the compliment with grace and stepped into the girl’s open arms. The two of them traded air kisses near the cheeks before pulling apart, “I’m glad to see that you took me advice on the Missoni.”</p><p>“You were so right,” Carol gushed, then turned to Jughead with a plastic smile, “You should have seen me in the dress before Veronica told me to take it to the tailors. It looked just like I was wearing a hacky sack!”</p><p>“A very expensive one I’d imagine,” he said before he could stop to consider his words.</p><p>He’d learn over the years how important it was for one to filter their thought, especially if one didn’t want to be sneered at upon entering a room, but old habits die hard</p><p>Veronica forced out a pitchy chuckle that in turn, forced Carol to do the same.</p><p>“He’s so quick-witted, isn’t he?” the brunette rhapsodized and squeezed his forearm with a little bit too much pressure to be entirely affectionate, “This is my good friend that I was telling you about. Jughead’s a travel writer and a photographer.”</p><p>Carol hummed approvingly as she lapped at her glass. “That’s very cool. Where do you work?”</p><p>“Mostly with the New Yorker,” he told her, “I do some work for National Geographic, Time magazine, Reader’s Digest and the Independent but they’re more on a…uh…per request basis.”</p><p>The blonde’s blue eyes grew wide as a couple of saucers. “Oh wow! You do a bit of everything, don’t you?"</p><p>“Yes,” Veronica answered before he could even open his mouth, “He wears multiple hats and he’s fantastic in all of them.”</p><p>Jughead wasn’t too clueless to bypass how people gawked at her but turned their noses up at him during that summer after graduation. Beneath all that admiration for her was an underlying question of how or why a girl like her was hanging around with a guy like him. He knew where he stood, he didn’t need a reminder but he was reminded anyway. Once he got to New York, he didn’t make it a life mission to strive to her level. Instead, he aimed for enough to afford a clean bed and proper heating. In the end, Jughead ended up getting a lot more than what he bargained for because at one point, The Cut included him on their list of ’30 emerging artists under 30’ and at another point, New York Magazine dedicated a full spread to his ‘success story’ as the city’s most in-demand photojournalist. That was how he knew he’d become the man Veronica could come to want. He’d left behind the dweeby, edgy loner that he used to be in his home town. His twenties had turned him into a well-travelled, well-read, well-educated, and his bank account, well-funded. He saw it in the way she looked at him at times – often when she brought him to high society events – how she beamed at him with pride as she paraded him around the room to strangers who’d never experienced life outside of privilege and hefty trust funds. Sometimes she’d tell them about the Serpents and switchblades with his initials carved into it. He didn’t like to recount his brief stint as a teenage gang member but he played along sometimes when the mood suited him. He knows she liked how it made him appear rough around the edges and how it made her seem that much more worldly to the older, aristocratic crowd.</p><p>“Ugh, here comes Heather and her stoner husband,” Veronica half-groaned, half-hissed as she nudged him out of his train of thoughts.</p><p>He tried to maintain a straight face as she quickly snatched two glasses of red off the waitstaff and handed one to him. Heather Grisham was a what Veronica dubbed as “the bitch with all the bark and no bite” and hence, the ringleader of the UES brat pack. The two of them attended Spence together and has hated each other ever since they crossed paths in junior year. It didn’t help that Heather was a close family friend of both the Cushing’s and his ex-fiancé’s. Veronica was convinced that she would be on the ‘outs’ with the ladies if it wasn’t for her position at Vogue. They used to have petty arguments over her social standing and why she felt the need to be ‘in’ with a bunch of socialites who liked to compete over the latest designer purse and who attended which fashion week. He admittedly used to look down at her for caring – partly because Veronica was no longer the shallow, rich girl he used to think her to be and partly because he thought they were all beneath her. He realised some years ago that it wasn’t fair to project his expectations of her onto the things she did and wanted and valued. Archie tried that once upon a time and looked where that got him. So he learned to accept that this was Veronica’s world and if he wanted to be a part of it, he was going to have to act accordingly. If that meant minding his tongue during a dinner party and eating with tiny, impractical cutleries then so be it.</p><p>“Veronica, how are you?” Heather greeted icily, her lacquered manicure digging into the sleeve of her husband's wrinkled blazer.</p><p>“Wonderful,” Veronica replied clippedly and downed half of her glass.</p><p>“How are you doing, man? It’s been a while,” Greg grinned at him dopily as he looped his arm around to pat him on the back, “How’s that – uh – how’s the travelling thing going?”</p><p>“It’s not at the moment if you can’t tell,” he said in a bland attempt at a joke.</p><p>Heather rolled her eyes and Jughead wasn’t sure if that was directed at his dry humour or her husband’s stupidity. Then again, when was Heather <em>not </em>eye-rolling at Greg? He was a pseudo doctor who practiced “frequency medicine” and made a living off tricking rich, desperate housewives into believing that “energetic healing” was the new, cutting-edge way to cure cancer. He enjoyed vaping, organic marijuana strains, and throwing out words like “energy,” “space,” and “electro-magnetic” at every party he attended. Veronica and he were practically left comatose on the floor at last year’s thanksgiving soiree when Greg accidentally got too high and quacked on about how his private practice was such a threat to big pharma that they were sending hitmen after him.</p><p>“I’ve got another week off before I leave for Saint-Tropez."</p><p>Greg sniffed, probably from all the coke. “Oh yeah? For what?”</p><p>“To take cute little pictures of nature, silly,” Heather chimed in, her tone condescendingly sweet as she sipped at her champagne, “That is what you do, isn’t it?”</p><p>Jughead narrowed his eyes suppressed the urge to sneer. “It’s a bit more complex than that but sure.”</p><p>Veronica polished off her drink and was already on the hunt for seconds. “Oh, have you heard the good news? The New York Post is in talks of putting Jughead here on this year’s list of top twenty most eligible bachelor.”</p><p>She wasn’t lying but talks were just that – talks.</p><p>Heather glared at him subduedly. “How eccentric of them to consider a stray.”</p><p>Veronica flashed her head joltingly. “What did you just say?”</p><p>Heather’s pale lips twisted into a conniving smirk. “I guess it is fitting considering the sorry state of 2018. Civilisation is in the decline, the British royal family is no longer posh with an American in the midst, neon is back in. I see they’re trying to keep up with the times by throwing a no-name, no-family photojournalist into the mix of worthy candidates.”</p><p>Jughead scoffed and threw back the rest of his drink. He took these kinds of degrading jabs on the chin, he was used to it by now but Veronica was a different story. She hadn’t quite grasped that the most pleasure a self-important snob like Heather took was from tormenting whoever she thought was the weakest link in the room. Like him, most people, knew that was Greg, Heather didn’t though and that was why she kept with the insults over the year. It started off with off-the cuff comments on his “subpar education” at NYU, then over the years it had evolved into uncouth criticisms on his “lifeless” photography. The goal posts change every time he sees her and today was personal - Heather wanted to get into the family matters, or the lack of anyway. </p><p>He returned the empty glass to a tray that was driving past and placed a solid hand to the small of her back. He lowered his head to her ear and whispered, “Tell you what, I’ll dance with you tonight if you don’t pull her hair out.”</p><p>She glanced up at him, scandalised. “Seriously?”</p><p>Jughead nodded despite himself.</p><p>“Well, it’s been nice seeing the both of you,” Veronica announced abruptly, leaving the other woman stupefied as she reverted to her previously glacial state, “Now if you’d excuse us, we have better things to do than stand around and trade small talks.”</p><p>It was only forty minutes and three drinks later that Veronica saw to it that he made good on his promise. So there they were, in the middle of a guest room with a grand piano, shuffling to a Van Morrison tune.</p><p>“Since when did you know how to dance?” Veronica asked with her head to his chest and her hand in his.</p><p>“Who says I didn’t?” Jughead challenged, a smile playing at his lips.</p><p>“Darling, I saw you stumbling all over prom.”</p><p>“Like you were any better,” he retorted.</p><p>Veronica tossed her head back with all the arrogance in the world. “I was gently swaying to the tune of my broken heart.”</p><p>“Right, I’m sure it wasn’t because of Archie’s clumsy footwork,” he snorted, “Or how he stomped all over your eight-hundred dollar shoes until you had to hobble your way off the dance floor.”</p><p>She glared at him but there was no real malice there. “Oh hush, you’re ruining the moment.”</p><p>The song faded into obscurity and some of the pairs around them broke apart but the two of them stayed as they were, sharing a private smile and tangled in each other’s arms. Some showboat asshole jumped at the chance to play a Rod Stewart’s jazzy hit on the piano so Veronica made him dance with her to that too.</p><p>“We should do this more often,” Veronica told him, sweet and endearing.</p><p>“Which part?” he asked in amusement and pulled her closer, “The dancing or the social tear-down?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” that was an odd thing to hear from Veronica, considering that she was someone who knew much more than she liked to let on, “I guess that sometimes I wish you were around more.”</p><p>Jughead pretended to think about it for however long it takes to finish playing a chorus of an old pop song. “How about you come to Saint Tropez with me? It's only ten days.”</p><p>They left the city a week later.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead stops watching his neighbour for long enough to get in an afternoon’s worth of sleep. In his defence, he woke up disorientated, and he wasn’t expecting company over so early in the day. So when his eyes twitch open to a bleary sight of Veronica, standing before him in a cotton day dress that reminded him of a Renaissance painting, he fails to get his act together.</p><p>Veronica’s got on a sunny smile as she pulls out a neatly wrapped rectangle from behind her back. A bow made out of black and red ribbons were sticky-taped onto the front of it. The combination of those two colours clashed but stylishly with the gingham wrapping paper. It’s like Christmas with less green.</p><p>“Ronnie?” Jughead rubs at his eyelids that badly wish to stay shut, “What are you doing here? It’s one in the afternoon. Shouldn’t you be at work?”</p><p>“I took the rest of the day off,” she announces cheerily and places the box on his lap, “The wait was killing me so I thought, “screw it” and hopped in the first cab that stopped for me. Open it!”</p><p>It looks so perfect just sitting there that he would have felt bad for peeling back the papers if not for what’s underneath the pretty layers. Trust her to colour code.</p><p>“Veronica, why is there this month’s copy of Vanity Fair in here?”</p><p>She peers down at him eagerly her grin widening by the minute. He can tell that she’s been struggling to keep a lid on her excitement. “Vanity Fair wants you as their national political reporter? Isn’t that fabulous?!”</p><p>Jughead blinks up at her, wondering if she’s lost her marbles.</p><p>“I don’t want to write about politics.”</p><p>“Jug,” Veronica tilts her head and gives him a mildly patronising look, “You chased a Kushner through JFK for free. You get irrationally angry when someone tells you they forgot to vote. And even if you don’t’ love politics, you care more about the system than anyone I know,” she cries, “This way you get to badger the corrupted one-percenters and get paid for it, while I can rest assured you’re doing that in a safe, contained environment where you won’t be pummelled for it. It’s a win for everyone!”</p><p>“Just because I want justice for the people that these assholes constantly cheat out of their hard-earned money, that doesn’t mean that I want to do it for a living.”</p><p>The plastic smile remains frozen on her face. It makes for an ugly contrast with the disappointment and hurt that are swirling in her brown eyes.</p><p>“I don’t want it. I mean that, Veronica,” he tells her with finality in his voice and tosses the glossy magazine across the coffee table, “I like my job.”</p><p>“The one you don’t even know if you still have?” she tries to put it gently but the words still feel like lashes to his gut, “Look, all I’m saying is that you should consider other options. Ed hasn’t called in months – we have to consider the very real possibility that they might never ask you to come back.”</p><p>“And the alternative is what?” Jughead retorts hotly, “Take on a job that my girlfriend called in for me as a favour?”</p><p><em>Shit</em>. Did he just call her<em> that</em>, out loud?</p><p>Veronica folds her bottom lip under her front teeth and curls her fist into two small but solid balls. That’s always a sure sign that he’s royally pissed her off.</p><p>“One, I was just trying to do something nice for you. Two, it wasn’t a favour – I CC’d them your resume and whatever I could find of your old articles. Three, I am <em>not</em> your girlfriend,” she seethes, whirling around to rip her coat off a stool, “Oh, and just a tip in case you ever care to pursue a real, functioning relationship with a woman, you actually have to ask first for her to know that the offer to be your girlfriend is on the table.”</p><p>If Jughead winces when he hears the door slams behind Veronica, he jumps when he hears his neighbour drop a fresh pot of fern off the side of her balcony. He can’t help but notice how the roses are wilting away.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I actually expected this story to be about 3-4 parts but at this point, we might be pushing for 6 lol. I think I underestimated how much fleshing out the characters actually need considering that I've been skipping back and forth between a number of years. Also, for those of you who read my other story, "buried under a rose bush" as well, and was wondering when you're going to get any update. I'm thinking it's going to be a two-week wait...? I've admittedly been focusing more on this so we're so close the end now lol</p><p>Anyway, THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the kudos and all the lovely, supportive comments you left on the previous chapters x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They almost slept together in Saint Tropez. This is the one thing they don’t talk about.</p><p>Veronica spent the majority of the trip tagging along to remote locations he was assigned to shoot. He didn’t understand her interest and warned her how repetitive it could be to watch him take twenty-something snapshots of tourist attractions. She didn’t take heed to that and followed him around anyway. Turned out that Veronica made for an impressive assistance. She spent the first two days asking simple but practical questions about the cameras. By the fourth day, she was grabbing lenses out of his kit for him and even changing them whenever he was making talks to the locals. By the last few days of the trip, she knew what the different shooting modes meant and how to set it accordingly on his Canon. Now that he looks back on their time together, Saint Tropez was probably the first time he ever entertained the idea that Veronica might be a little bit in love with him too. Ever often she would say something or look at him a certain way that told him that she treasured every passing moment they had  together, like he was finally worthy of her. This was exhilarating because there used to be a time where Jughead convinced himself that he didn’t want Veronica’s admiration but the truth was that he had always craved it, even when he thought she was nothing but an elusive big-city snob. </p><p>Living with her was much easier than it was all those years ago. For one, they were actually friends this time around. For two, the simple routine of sharing the same space came to them like breathing or eating; it was second nature. They started the trip off sleeping in separate beds but by the second night, they agreed they were both adults and pushed the two queens together so it made for an especially roomy king. They spent most of their off-time on the beach. Veronica worked on her tan and flipped through French Vogue while Jughead did some writing and read whatever she had packed with her. The night time was reserved for trying out different restaurants within a five kilometres radius of their hotel and getting mistaken for lovers. They knew they weren’t but it became convenient to slip into their respective roles. She ordered for him because her French was near impeccable and he paid for everything like a perfect gentleman because he could finally afford to.</p><p>It was the closest they’ve ever been. He felt comforted by that fact until it became a problem. </p><p>It was day seven when it happened. Day eight allowed for a sleep-in so they decided to take advantage of the late start by heading out for a boozy night out. Jughead should have known it was trouble when Veronica came out of the bathroom in a silver slip dress that barely covered her behind. He ignored the tell-tale signs of how irresistible she was about to be that night and took her out drinking anyway.</p><p>The place was a quaint seaside bar that overlooked the port and served champagnes that weren’t excessively expensive. She started with a glass of yellow label Brut, he indulged in half a glass before moving onto brandy while she persisted with the bottle of Veuve Clicquot. By the time the bar closed, they had cleaned up five bottles between the two of them and thought it was a grand idea to take one to go. The walk home must have taken fifteen minutes tops but it felt like an eternity to Jughead who was struggling to walk straight himself, never mind that he was trying to guide Veronica as well. She giggled excessively, slurred every other word, and because she refused to take off her strappy heels, she ended up tripping into him and he, in turn, stumbled into a set of doors that had been nailed shut because the café had gone out of business. He had mumbled an oddly humorous ‘ow’ when his back smacked into the panels of wood and Veronica had laughed as she pressed into him, her hair falling all over him like a thick, intoxicating curtain that he wanted to permanently be cloaked under.</p><p>“I think I’m drunk,” Veronica mumbled, the warm puff of her breath tickling his neck.</p><p>“No shit,” he muttered gruffly and pushed the dark locks out of her face, “That last bottle was a bad idea.”</p><p>Veronica nudged his legs apart and stood between them, completely unaware of the way she was ever so slightly rubbing against him. She giggled some more until she went completely silent. Then, without any warning, her hands were curling around his linen shirt and she was peering up at him, her face flushed, and her eyes hazy with an appetite for something more than what they’d been drinking.</p><p>She licked her lips, now patchy with cherry red stains and glossy with her saliva. “Is this a bad idea?”</p><p>Jughead would have played dumb and asked ‘what’ had Veronica not surged forward and sealed their fate with a heady kiss. He’d be lying if he said he’d never imagined what it would be like to do this again after that one time in the hot tub. She had been so confident then, so determined during the act and so dismissive after. This was nothing like their first time – she was frenzied yet so pliant in the way she was kissing him, like she <em>had</em> to have him now or she might just burst into flames. He tried to think about how drunk they both were, how unfair it was that she was making this decision inebriated but he had wanted her – wanted <em>this</em> – for as long as he could remember. So he sunk his teeth into her bottom lip and forced her to open up for him, sliding his tongue into her hungry mouth as she moaned for more. He was vaguely aware of how he was moving like a crazed man, his hands were everywhere – buried in her hair, sliding up her thigh, cupping her ass under the flimsy material of her dress – and he didn’t know how to stop. His head screamed at him to stop, and the voice kept persisting until he found some semblance of control and ripped away from her.</p><p>He swore that for as long as he lived, he’d never forget the way she looked on that balmy night, with her back flat against the wall and her chest rising and falling to the pounding of his heart. Her dress had ridden so far up her thigh that it almost went over the satiny triangle that he may have accidentally grazed with his thumb. Jughead knew then that the last image to ever cross his mind would be the one of Veronica with her inky curls tangled together into a wild mass and those dark orbs, glossy with unadulterated lust and shock, as if she couldn’t reconcile what they had done to one another but craved for more anyway.</p><p>There were better choices, better wording, better ways and he’d only come to think of them over the years after he’d lost his chance with her.</p><p>Jughead could have said anything else but as he watched her, willing and wanting for him, he was struck with the immeasurable fear that it was temporary. Because what happens when she outgrows him like she does everything and everyone else? Where does that leave him? He didn’t want to know – wasn’t ready to bear the brunt of being cast aside by the only person on this planet who understood him so wholly.</p><p>“It’s a bad idea.”</p><p>She left St. Tropez a day earlier than planned, and he didn’t return to the city with her. Instead, Jughead found ways to be in all the other major cities that weren’t New York. They barely talk during his world tour – he blamed his busy schedule and she pretended to believe him for long enough that he started believing it too. When he was finally ready to face her again, he was five months too late.</p><p>Veronica, as if on schedule, came to fetch him from JFK with shining spirit and smiles. Everything was right as rain – or so it seemed.</p><p>“Hey, you,” she greeted, easy breezy and devoid of any real emotion.</p><p>Still, her embrace was full of the tenderness that her speech lacked as she stood on her tiptoes so she could wrap both arms around his neck. She was wearing his old leather jacket that resided almost permanently at hers and smelt of another’s man cologne. He’d find out later on the drive back to his apartment that she had been seeing a law professor at Columbia for a few weeks by that point. That would go on for another two, torturous months.</p><p>And because deep down, Jughead understood that he had ruined whatever shot he had at happiness, he found himself standing before her again, trying to say what he should have said on that humid night in St. Tropez: “Veronica, listen, I need to tell you something – “</p><p>“No, me first. <em>Please,</em>” it was the first time he’d ever heard Veronica plead for anything so it instantly silenced him, “I know why you turned me down –</p><p>“Ronnie – “</p><p>“I get it, ok?” the words stumbled out of her mouth clumsily, “I had some time to think about it since you’ve been away and I know now that it would have been a mistake to go through with whatever that night was leading to.”</p><p>He felt sick like someone had punctured his stomach with a rusty nail.</p><p>Veronica didn’t look at him the whole time she spoke. It made him feel even worse if that was possible. “Let’s forget it ever happened. It will be just like that time at the lake house.”</p><p>Then she gave him a watery smile and a wet kiss him on the cheek. That was the end of it.</p><p>(Still, Jughead lays awake at night sometimes, plagued by the very real possibility that right at that very moment, Veronica is doing the same thing because she too,  can’t forget about the sound of crashing waves, the feel of skin sticking, and the taste of salty kisses that never led to anything.)</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Veronica doesn’t visit for ten days. It feels like much longer.</p><p>Jughead gives it twelve-hours after the fight to call, knowing full well that she’d let it get to voicemail. He’s never been big on apologies so he says something aloof (stupid) like <em>“That was an ugly misunderstanding. Call me back so we can talk about it</em>.” She leaves it to the forty-eight-hour mark then takes it leaving icy, short messages on his machine. Sometimes it’s to remind him to take his meds, sometimes it’s to tell him that she left him dinner with the concierge, sometimes it’s to say some hollow, needless words that meant nothing at all. He knows she wants him to grovel and cries out for her forgiveness, so he does neither and waits it out. She doesn’t appreciate that either and sends a very clear message that that’s the case when she doesn’t show for his physical therapy (that she sets up) and instead, sends her housekeeper to accompany him to his session like some errant child. It’s only when it gets to day six without any sign of Veronica that he starts to get nervous. He didn’t mean to yell at her about the Vanity Fair gig and he didn’t mean to call her his girlfriend, but he did so now she thinks he’s a conceited, ungrateful asshole. A lot of people would agree with her on that, he’s sure.</p><p>Veronica finally shows on Friday night, dressed in a devastatingly alluring outfit that he’s sure she spent some time putting together before she left her flat. She’s always treated clothes like stylish pieces to a full armour. Today she’s wearing head to toe crimson, with the exception of a baby blue chiffon scarf that she’s tucked into the collar. He doesn’t recognize that belted mid-calf dress before so he assumes it’s a recent purchase. It’s one of her ‘smarter’ looks, he can tell because she only wears those velvet black pumps when she means business. She doesn’t even tell him ‘hello’ and makes a beeline for the drink cart, pouring herself two fingers worth of scotch, neat.</p><p>He owes it to her to go first. “Rough day at work?”</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>She walks over to his turntable and puts on a Julie London record without even asking. He’s beginning to think she’s after a fight here.</p><p>Jughead braves her wrath and wheels himself around to face her. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“About what?” she knocks back the drink in one defiant gulp, “The fact that some yuppy Yale graduate thinks he knows how to do my job better than I do or the fact that you can’t appreciate the things that I do for you?”</p><p>“Okay...well…” Jughead takes a second to ponder her loaded question and swipes a tongue over his chapped lips, “I think you should tell the corporate male to mind his business and go crunch some numbers. Then I’d tell me to get my head out of my ass because while I do appreciate all the things that you do around here, I need to be better at showing it,” he pauses to adjust himself in his chair because the stiffness in his spine is starting to get to him, “Look, Veronica, I know you were trying to help with the Vanity Fair thing but I need to make my own way, alright? You just sprung it on me and it took me off guard, that was all.”</p><p>Veronica arched a perfectly groomed brow and began to tap her heel on his hardwood floor.</p><p>“And I am sorry for snapping at you,” he added after a beat too long, “I was a dick for what I said and you deserved better than that.”</p><p>“I’m not telling Vanity Fair that it’s definite ‘no,” she insists.</p><p>“You can tell them it’s a ‘no,’ for now.”</p><p>Veronica keeps a stiff upper lips as she sets the crystal down on his coffee table and in a small voice, she says, “That does seem fair.”</p><p>He moves an inch or two closer to her. “So am I pardoned or do you still expect me to beg for it?”</p><p>“You’ll have to make it up to me,” Veronica tells him with some steeliness to her tone, “At least you had the decency to call, even if it was to offer that non-apology.”</p><p>“You know I’m no good with that kind of stuff.”</p><p>“I know,” she acknowledges in dismay and fingers the rim of the tumbler, “It’s one of your worst qualities.”</p><p>He nods while she pours herself a second drink and him his first of that evening.</p><p>“You’ll stay then?” Jughead hates how desperate he sounds but he thinks he might implode if she walks out the door right now, “Last week’s episode of ‘Big Little Lies’ is still sitting there. We can order from that Japanese place you like. Unless you’ve already had dinner?”</p><p>“Sounds wonderful,” she swishes her brushed-out curls over her shoulder, “But before we get to that, I think you might be interested to see this.”</p><p>Veronica seems almost jittery as she takes her phone out of her Balenciaga and pushes and swipes until she finds what she’s after.</p><p>“I was talking to one of the girls at the office about all the suspicious activities that have been happening in the other building –“</p><p>She stops short when she catches him narrowing his eyes.</p><p>“It’s harmless girl talk!” she defends and raps on, “Anyway, the single fern in the rose bed had her on the edge of her seat. She’s one of those true-crime fanatics so naturally, she wanted to get to the nitty-gritty. I thought to myself – well, I can’t see why not?  After all, that detective already confirmed that her wife is out there, living her best life in Hawaii. And guess what?”</p><p>“She wears Crocs unironically?”</p><p>Veronica rolls her eyes and thrusts her phone in his face. “Turns out, my co-worker has her on Finsta! What are the chances of that?”</p><p>“What the fuck is a Finsta?” He asks, squinting at the screen. Someone really needs to tell Veronica to adjust her brightness setting.</p><p>“It’s like a fake Instagram that you have so you can stalk acquaintances or strangers and share politically incorrect memes without any of the added shame,” she explains and plops down on the loveseat beside him, “I screen-shotted all the good stuff and by that, I mean highly embarrassing. Here’s a picture of her and her geekazoid friends playing a quidditch game in Central Park. Another one of her at comic-con, dressed as Bilbo – can you tell there’s a theme here? Ooh,” she coos and swipes to the next picture in her camera roll,  “Here’s a raunchy one of her and her wife acting like a couple of white trash with their tops up and tongues down each other’s throat – “</p><p>The picture itself was nothing too scandalous. It was a standard hook-up picture that were obviously taken in one of those black-and-white photo booths that were becoming more and more common at hip launch parties. Both of the women had their tops pulled over their bras and –</p><p>“A Finsta is for the things you don’t want other people to see…”</p><p>Then it clicks.</p><p>Jughead turns to her sharply. “What’s the wife’s name?”</p><p>“Um…I don’t remember and she doesn’t tag people in her posts,” she says haltingly, a deep furrow marring the space between her brows, “Hold on, I think I wrote it down the other day when Jeff mentioned it.”</p><p>Veronica walks over to the console table and snatches up the notepad, flipping a few pages back. “Rita Monroe”</p><p>He whips out his own phone and clicks onto the Instagram tile. He slides over to the search bar, then hastily types in the name. The woman isn’t hard to find, especially when she’s got his neighbour in the DP with her.</p><p>“That’s not her wife,” Jughead declares, “Her wife is a brunette.”</p><p>She creeps up next to him, her chin hovering just centimetres over his shoulder. “What are you talking about? The redhead in that topless picture is practically sucking her face off. It has to be her wife!”</p><p>Jughead holds his phone up next to hers for comparison, “See that?”</p><p>Veronica scrolls through the lengthy feed of overly filtered selfies, cliché scenery shots of the woman’s travels, Frosé, and most importantly, her wedding pictures from two years ago.</p><p>“If that’s not the wife…” she begins tentatively and jabs at her screen, “Then who the hell is that supposed to be?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he admits and wheels over to the window. Her blinds are tightly drawn shut but she can’t escape that someone else, somewhere much closer than she would expect, is now aware that: “She was having an affair. I had it all backward. I assumed that the redhead was the wife because she was constantly over – until a few weeks ago anyway,” he throws her a long, hard look, “It’s not the wife that we should have been worried about. It’s the girlfriend.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He heard from Betty once. It’s what the kids like to call  “sliding into the DMs.”</p><p>She tried adding him on Instagram and when that didn’t work, she decided she’d try her hand at sending him a private message. It sat there in his inbox for days, he didn’t know what to do with it and since he didn’t have many friends, he ended up unburdening himself to Jorge at Katy and K.O.’s house warming.</p><p>Jorge was drunk on champagne and recent Broadway success so he announced it to the rest of the room, like it was a focus group and they were trying to study the art of reaching out to an ex that you cheated on.</p><p>At first, Veronica joined in like it was a party game. She “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” at all the playful and sometimes cheeky suggestions to what the most fitting response would be. She was a good actress like that and usually, he was pretty good at telling the real from the fake. He barely missed the mark, but when he did? It was bad.</p><p>Later, when Veronica went to use the bathroom, Jughead caught Katy drying some wine glasses and offered his assistance. She smiled and immediately handed him the one used for Cabernet. They’d grown close over the years, Katy was the first friend of Veronica’s that he was introduced to. She was also her only friend that didn’t completely hate the way he dresses.</p><p>“I think we might have upset Veronica with all the joking around about your ex.”</p><p>He furrowed his brow and ran the cloth over the damp rim of the glass. “Why would that upset her?”</p><p>Katy pressed her lips into a thin smile. “I don’t know but I think she’s nervous that you might start talking to Betty again. She’s got this little tick whenever she’s anxious about something. She – “</p><p>“Does the pinching thing with her fingers, yeah I know,” Jughead finished Katy’s sentence with ease and glanced at her sideways. “You don’t think she’s jealous, do you?”</p><p>The petite brunette shrugged and peeled off the rubber gloves. She didn’t say anything but she sure did give him something to think about.</p><p>They left shortly after that. Veronica had to work early on Monday and since they came together, it made sense that they leave together too. Jughead tried to flag down a cab once they were standing out in the cold but she shook her head and told him that she wanted to walk.</p><p>“Veronica, we’re on the Upper West Side. You live on the Upper East Side.”</p><p>“I never said you have to come with.”</p><p>He did anyway. She knew he wouldn’t let her walk home alone at half-past eleven and from Greenwich nevertheless. It was all comfortable silence for the first couple of blocks, then she stopped at a coffee cart. Veronica’s order never fell outside the stereotypical valley girl realm – it was either a skinny or Matcha latte or nothing at all.</p><p>The black coffee was a sign that something was, indeed, bothering her and she was determined to keep herself up for the rest of the night so she could torture herself with the thought. Katy was right; she was ruffled by that Betty conversation.</p><p>Jughead decided that he didn’t drive all the way up from Georgia for the weekend to tiptoe around her feelings so as impulsive as it was, he wrangled the paper cup out of her hand and pitched it at a nearby bin. The problem was that he almost flunked physical education so he ended up slapping the coffee into incoming traffic. The cab honked at them with such aggression that it made Veronica jump.</p><p>If she wasn’t pissed before, she was now.</p><p>“What is wrong with you?” Veronica screeched, then promptly stomped across the crossing as the walking man flashed green.  </p><p>He held back a groan and jogged up to catch up with her.</p><p>“I think the better question is what’s wrong with <em>you</em>,” Jughead said pointedly, “You’ve been acting all testy since we left Katy and K.O.’s place.”</p><p>Veronica persevered at her brisk pace that her tiny legs really shouldn’t be able to keep up with. “I have barely spoken a word to you, so how would you know?”</p><p>“Exactly!” he threw his arms out in livid exasperation, “You haven’t said one word to me since we left. What’s going on, Veronica?”</p><p>She whirled around dramatically, whipping herself in the cheek with her straightened hair. It was close to midnight and they were standing in the middle of some neighbourhood he didn’t recognise, glaring at each other like looks could maim. The last time they got this angry with each other, Veronica broke his PlayStation.</p><p>“I just…” Veronica trailed off like she was trying to calculate the damage her next words, “Betty reached out to you, so why not me too?”</p><p>Jughead scoffed into the chilly, night air. “Probably because the two of you spent high school pretending to be best buddies so you could fight over your precious ‘Archiekins.”</p><p>It was a shitty thing to say but it was too late to take it back.</p><p>“Take that back! You know that it wasn’t pretend.”</p><p>“Oh come on, Veronica, it was just stupid party talk,” he couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation, “Who cares that she had a sudden spurt of inspiration to make things right with me?”</p><p>“Fine. If that’s the case then it wouldn’t matter if Archie reached out to me, right?” Veronica challenged, her face pinched into an arrogant expression, “Who cares, right?”</p><p>No, wrong.<em> So</em> wrong.</p><p>The only thing more irrational than thinking that Archie would want to rekindle things with Veronica was actually believing it. Jughead paled as the thought swirled around until it festered in his psyche because it forced him to acknowledge that a cripplingly insecure part of him would be convinced. That in itself flooded him with a violent fit of rage – yes, Archie had taken Betty away from him, and that had hurt like hell but if he took Veronica – he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he took Veronica. Betty was his first everything but Veronica was <em>everything </em>he’d always been too afraid to take for himself. They weren’t kids fighting over the pretty girl next door anymore and he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that she’d be alone forever but Veronica chose <em>him</em>, she left with<em> him</em>, she gave <em>him</em> parts of her that she never gave to Archie.</p><p>“It won’t be an issue after I get on the first train to Riverdale and tell him to back the fuck off,” Jughead gritted, fists clenching so hard that he thought his knuckles might tear through the skin, “You’ve made your point.”</p><p>“And you, well,” she hung her head and averted his gaze, “You still put so much importance into what she has to say even after all these years”</p><p>He didn’t know what to say or how to say it so he bridged the gap between them and picked up her hand that was dangling inertly by her side, turning her glove-covered palm over and brushing his thumb over the lambskin. “You know it’s you and me. It’s been you and me for years now, and it’s always going to be you and me. You should know that by now.”</p><p>Veronica must have too because she held his hand for the rest of the walk home.</p><p>“Hey, Jug?” Veronica called out to him gently once they got to her place and she was straddling the steps to her building, “I think I know how you should reply to Betty’s message.”</p><p>He waited for her with an urging look.</p><p>“I forgive you.”</p><p>A cab pulled up just in time for Veronica to disappear into the lobby and Jughead sat in his ride contemplatively for what seemed like hours before he looked at his phone again. Betty’s message was still sitting there but somehow it wasn’t daunting anymore. Instead, they were plain, simple sentences that read like a sentiment he thought he’d heard her express before: “<em>I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Things just got so out of control and I didn’t know any better..</em>.” He typed in the three words and sent it without another thought.</p><p>Jughead didn’t accept Betty’s follow request and he deleted the messages afterward. But he meant what he said, he forgave her and he thinks he did a long time ago.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead doesn’t quite grasp how it’s possible to have loved two women who are the antithesis of each other. It makes him feel like he’s Archie and seventeen and infinite. Except he’s older now and he thinks he’s beginning to understand. Betty was like waking up to the first summer morning – warmer than any broken heating he’d skimmed off empty houses and brighter than his best memories. It always felt like being looked down upon by something too holy for his damnation. Veronica was and had always been, the unforgiving winter. Unlike the sunny blonde, she always made it known that she wasn’t looking his way. That first sight of her had caused hypothermia of some sort because he remembered aching for days after she’d left him out to thaw on those first few days of sophomore year. Secretly, he’s glad that he never had the displeasure of falling for Veronica during their high school years. He knows now that it might have killed him if he did. Losing Betty to his best friend, of all people, had cut, and once upon a time, Jughead would have sworn with all his broody dramatics that he’d never love again. It felt like it too – the humiliation, the betrayal, the hopelessness of it all had rendered him empty of any hope for real affection. And if he’s being honest of himself, he was always a lone wolf. He was better off without the other half, he was whole by his lonesome. Then (re)entered Veronica, who nagged and cajoled and dazzled until she got him to live and laugh and eventually, love her. He still thinks about the way he loved Betty sometimes, it reminds him of how he would have done anything to make her love him back and it reminds him of how little he’d done to earn Veronica’s. Betty could have been it for him but once it was Veronica, it was her for good. Betty was the first person to ever really see him but Veronica knew him – without a word, without even blinking.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Judging by all the noises in the background, they caught Jeff at a bad time.</p><p>“So the two of you are now telling me that the woman didn’t kill her wife but her side-chick?”</p><p>“Yes, Jeff,” Veronica chimes in over the speaker, “That is exactly what we’re telling you.”</p><p>“And Jones, you’re sure that you saw the mistress going in and out of the place until a few weeks ago?’</p><p>“Yes,” Jughead confirms drolly.</p><p>There’s a static pause, then: “Text me the picture of the girl and I’ll see what I can do about it. Now please, don’t call me in the next hour unless you see that woman gut a human like a dead deer. I’m trying to watch the playoff here.”</p><p>He hangs up after that brusque exit speech.</p><p>Veronica turns to him. “So what do we do now?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Jughead tells her as he wheels away from the window, “We wait for Jeff to get back to us, that’s it.”</p><p>“That could take days, Jug.”</p><p>“Well, Veronica,” he tilts his head to the side and smiles at her in dry amusement, “What do you propose we do?”</p><p>She plants herself down on his leather couch that she picked out some years ago and rests her chin on her knuckle, looking deep in thought as she gnaws on her lipstick.</p><p>“Okay, how about this?” Veronica begins rousingly, “We wait for her to open up the blinds, we make sure that she’s there to stay which shouldn’t me too hard considering that she clearly does all her work from home. Then we slip a note under her door,” she’s smiling wide now as she rises to her feet, “Something mildly threatening without being too obvious. Something like –“</p><p>“Like, “I know what you did,” Jughead finished for her, slightly stumped by her creative plan.</p><p>‘Yes!” she points at him excitedly, “Yes! Then we’ll watch for her reaction. If she isn’t guilty then she shouldn’t react at all.”</p><p>“Veronica,” he practically gasps out, “That’s brilliant – you’re brilliant!”</p><p>She may look smug but he can tell that his compliment brought some colour to her cheeks. She’ll never know how much joy it brings to him to know that he has that kind of effect on her.</p><p>“We’ll do it tomorrow,” Veronica beams and clasps her hands together, “I’ll come over right after my date.”</p><p>Jughead’s face falls at that second part of her announcement. He can tell by the way his jaw slacks and his heart drops.</p><p>“O – oh,” he stutters out like a buffoon, “Who with?”</p><p>“Don’t know him yet,” she says cheerily and it’s like salt in the wound, “But I’ve heard great things from Josie. He’s close family friends with that new record exec’s boyfriend of hers, so who knows? Maybe she’s overselling him.”</p><p>This isn’t his first rodeo on the ‘Veronica-going-on-dates” train and although it’s never been easy to swallow that she goes out with some unknown male, giggling at his jokes, brushing up against him, and teasing him with a goodnight kiss, he’d come to terms years ago that Veronica is a beautiful, intelligent, charming woman that most men would kill to call their own. She makes it a habit to call him afterward, mostly to complain or swear off dating altogether. He doesn’t tell her but he goes hours waiting for that phone call. It shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore yet he feels especially perturbed today. He doesn’t know if it’s because she seems unusually eager about the date or the fact that it’s fresh off the end of that nasty spat. Either way, he knows he’s going to spend the rest of tomorrow, nursing a glass of old-aged scotch and feeling sorry for himself.</p><p>“Well, I hope for his sake that he’s got a deep pocket because he’s going to need several of them if he wants to keep you interested.”</p><p>Veronica rolls her eyes and smacks him with a cushion.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead didn’t see or hear from Veronica for years but when he did, it felt like the cruel summer heat and teenage dreams neither of them got to live.</p><p>He just had an off-site meeting and was leaving Keens Steakhouse when a slew of paparazzi rushed past him, splashing dirty rainwater onto his freshly pressed suit. In a typical pissed-off New Yorker, he’d planned to cuss them out when he heard one of them yell out: “<em>That’s her!!! That’s Veronica Lodge</em>!”</p><p>He forgot all about his extreme agitation after that because sitting there across the road, with a glass of Chardonnay in her hand and holding another’s with her other one, was Veronica Lodge. She was very clearly dining out with a date at an obscenely expensive and exclusive establishment, but that didn’t explain why she was getting rushed by TMZ like a common reality tv show star.</p><p>“Hey,” he grabbed hold of one of the photographers and nodded in her direction, “What’s with all the commotion?”</p><p>The guy gave him a look of utter disbelief. It almost made him feel stupid for not understanding. “You serious, man? That’s Tom Cushing and his new fiancé. He dropped his high school sweetheart for that one.”</p><p>“Cushing as in American Tuna?”</p><p>“The one and only,” the stumpy man shook his hand off and glared, “Any other questions or can I get back to my job now?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, piss off.”</p><p>Jughead only saw her a split second before their table was swarmed by cameras and flashing light. Even so, he could tell that she was happy. It was notoriously difficult to get a genuine smile out of Veronica when they were younger and she was definitely giving that fiancé of hers one of those rare smiles. She still looked as beautiful and regal as ever – guess some things will never change.</p><p>He only made it half a block when a couple came zooming at him. He only realised after the initial shock of nearly getting the wind knocked out of him that the couple was Tom Cushing and Veronica-soon-to-be-Cushing.</p><p>“Sorry,” the brunette squeaked out, her heels barely gripping onto her tiny feet as her male companion dragged her along in a hurry. She hadn’t noticed that it was him that she had collided into.</p><p>A few moments later, a cab came around the corner and floored the brakes when he heard Tom’s ear-piercing whistle. It was good timing too considering that the golden-haired gentleman was in the middle of hauling Veronica into the car when an army of paparazzi flew down the other end of the street with the full intention of getting their pictures. Fortunately, the two of them got away just before the cameras got to them. Cushing must have paid the driver extra to step on it because the car sped by him in a hazy blur.</p><p>Still, it wasn’t quick enough for him to decide against waving at her from the curbside. Unfortunately, the reflection of the flashing lights made it impossible to tell if she even noticed him.</p><p>Years later, Jughead would ask her over lunch at that very same obscenely priced restaurant if she saw him that day, and to that, she’d say: “Of course. I waved back.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The neighbour has her blinds wide open and Jughead has the note ready to go when Veronica and Josie walk through his door.</p><p>“You brought Josie with you? Seriously?”</p><p>“A ‘hello, how are you, Josie?’ would have been nice,” the girl sulked.</p><p>“Oh, it’s fine,” Veronica waves him off and drops her purse and a takeout bag on his kitchen counter, “I put her up to speed on the walk over to yours.”</p><p>Jughead narrows his eyes at how casual she's being about all this.</p><p>“Lighten up,” she tells him as she strolls into the kitchen and got a clean dish out of the cupboard, “I brought back some lunch for you. I know how much you enjoy the Lemon Chicken from the 21 Club.”</p><p>“You want me to eat lunch at a time like this?”</p><p>“What?” Veronica asks aloofly as she dumps the food onto the plate and brought it over to him, “You’re always snacking whenever we watch true-crime shows.”</p><p>“This is real life, Veronica,” he levels with her.</p><p>“Alright, alright, you two seriously need to learn that you don’t need to bicker over everything,” Josie pipes up, sighing as she flops down on the loveseat, “I don’t know how I feel about this. V, you can get in major trouble if your girlfriend-killing neighbour finds out that it was you guys that slipped her the note.”</p><p>“Then we’ll have to make sure that she doesn’t find out, won’t we?” Veronica remarks with a sly grin. </p><p>As much he hates to admit it, Josie does have a point. He could think of at least a few scenarios in which things go side way and Veronica gets herself hurt in the process. For one, the neighbour could easily walk to the door in the short time that Veronica will need to push the note through the gap. For two, the woman could open up just in time to catch Veronica fleeing down the corridor and that would be more than enough to raise her suspicion. They are about to do a very dangerous thing and somehow that’s making Veronica gleeful. He doesn’t know if he should be concerned or proud of her for that.</p><p>“The note’s on the coffee table,” Jughead tells her simply, “I’ll give you a sign when the coast is clear. You slip the note under her door and you get out of there as quickly as possible. I don’t want you loitering around if you don’t need to.”</p><p>“Roger that.”</p><p>After Veronica left and the door swings shut, Josie and him share a stoic moment of silence. He isn’t all that hungry but he shovels the chicken down like he hasn’t eaten a meal in three days.</p><p>“She’s not going to agree to a second date, I can just tell,” Josie says glumly and shifted uneasily in her seat, “You must be relieved, huh?”</p><p>“Can’t say I’m unhappy about that,” he confesses.  </p><p>“Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”</p><p>His jaw clicks over.</p><p>“She’s not going to wait around forever, you know.”</p><p>His teeth clench.</p><p>“And it’s not like you don’t know that she feels the same way,” Josie reasons like it’s that simple, “If you really think about it, that’s already half the job done. You can just tell her how you feel and be completely reassured by the fact that she won’t turn you down.”</p><p>“There is nothing easy about Veronica and me,” he bites out.</p><p>“Well, yeah," she says blandly, "It's not going to be easy when you’re hell-bent on making it complicated.”</p><p>“I can’t lose Veronica, and to make sure it stays that way, I have to pick between what I want and what is safe. I would rather be safe and not be together than get her for a handful of years before it all goes to hell,” Jughead snaps irately. He knows he should leave it at that but he's gone without telling anyone the obvious for so long that it's almost as if there’s a dam inside of him and it has burst, “Best case scenario we end on good-terms but even then, I can’t be friends with her after that. For what? So I could be reminded of how good I had it, how my best days are already behind me because the best ones would be the ones where she loves me too – and I don’t know about you but I’d rather go without that depressing reminder.”</p><p>“Jughead, Veronica <em>does</em> love you,” Josie utters softly and sighs. The curly-haired girl scoots forward to lay a gentle hand over his. “I know you think that Betty and Archie threw you aside. I get that, but you can’t let that stop you from going after what makes you happy. You<em> cannot</em> let that stop you from making your life what you want it to be.”</p><p>Jughead would argue that he is happy with what they’ve got, he just could be happier. Then again, you can say that about anything.</p><p>“Wait, here she comes.”</p><p>Jughead picks up his binoculars and holds it up at his eye level. He can see Veronica gliding down the hallway at a frightening speed, the skirt of her pistachio- green jacquard dress swishing around her wildly. He turns just in time to catch his neighbour disappearing behind the bathroom door.</p><p>“Do I give her the thumbs up?” Josie asks apprehensively.</p><p>He nods and keeps his binocular trained on Veronica as her red lips curl into a cunning smirk once she receives the go-ahead from Josie. She crouches down with the fluidity of a feline and slides the note that’s been folded into a quarter under the door.</p><p>“Nice and easy,” Jughead mutters to himself as Veronica gets back on her feet and swivels around to blow them a kiss, “Quick, tell Veronica to fall back. She just came out of the bathroom and I think she’s spotted the note.”</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Josie strangles out nervously as she frantically waves at Veronica.</p><p>It takes a moment for the mousy blonde to approach, it’s almost as if she’s afraid that the note will come to live and bite her fingers off if she reaches for it. She stares at it for a prolonged minute before nudging it over with the toe of her slipper and bending down to pick it up. She’s cautious at first, two fingers pinching the corner of the paper, and then suddenly, she’s like a rabid animal as she tears the paper into pieces. It’s at this point that both Josie and he wordlessly agree that they better move away from plain sight.</p><p>He feels a gust of wind tickle the back of his neck as the door flies open and enters Veronica. “Did I miss it?”</p><p>“Not yet,” Jughead replies crispy.</p><p>“Oh, goodie!”</p><p>The woman’s hands begin to tremble uncontrollably as she drops whatever of his note that she hasn’t shredded.</p><p>“She looks angry,” Josie mumbles in a small voice.</p><p>Indeed, she does. Especially when her beady eyes are darting around menacingly as she storms over to the window and tugs the blind shut in one, angry swoop.</p><p>“No, she looks guilty.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So...I know it's been a while since the last update, and I wish I had better excuses but I basically had a bad case of writer's block that I couldn't seem to shake! So sorry for the wait and hopefully this chapter makes up for it. </p><p>And yes, there will be an epilogue x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was thirty minutes late to the ‘<em>Night in Winter Wilderness’</em> soiree. The place was buzzing with music and booze and strangers were covered in money and fur coat. He’d never been to the Cushing’s penthouse before but some decorative choices like the dark velvet Paloma chairs and baroque chandelier told him that a Lodge did indeed reside there.</p><p>“You’re late.”</p><p>Veronica told, or rather reprimanded, him from across the room. She was wrapped in black silk, snow-white mink, and no jewellery. She was picturesque, almost as if she’d stepped out of one of those Hepburn films she loved so much and he understood why every man in the room was openly gawking at her. Her husband was wearing a tux expensive enough to cover at least two months of his rent. The man must have had immense self-control because he was barely looking at her when she dashed away and towards another man instead. He thought that negligent since he recalled how Reggie Mantle’s eyes would follow every move she made back in high school.</p><p>“Technically, yes but by New York’s standard, I’m right on time,” Jughead smiled amiably and held a well-worn copy of ‘<em>Look Who’s Back’</em> out to her, “And by New York’s standard, I should be excused for my tardiness because I come bearing a gift.”</p><p>Veronica cooed excitedly as she took the offering off his hand. “This is meant to be divinely devious.”</p><p>“It is,” he assured, “Hence, you’ll love it.”</p><p>She was playful as whacked him on the chest with the spine of the book and beckoned him further into her home. “Come. I have someone I want you to meet.”</p><p>Veronica almost had him feeling bad for his delayed arrival, but then she had to go and bamboozled him with a date.</p><p>Her name was Juliet and in some freakish ‘Twilight Zone’s twist, she was much too much of his ex-girlfriend. A tad more hipster, a touch less progressive, a penchant for rescuing animals from the slaughterhouse rather than rescuing townies from suburban serial killers. Juliet was a pretty girl; a shade blonder and brown doe eyes instead of blue. Jughead knew he was supposed to be enamoured and he knew this set-up was solely to appease him, but he wasn’t and it didn’t. He tried to find traits to be attracted to in between the drinks. She went to Columbia for law (never mind that she dropped out after the second year) – that meant she was a smart girl and well, he always did like them on the brainy side. She volunteered at a dog shelter every Sunday – a bit of altruism is always appreciated. She worked out at least three times a week – he could tell, she was in impeccable shape and that magenta Dior’s dress was highlighting just how toned her backside was. Any other night, he thinks he’d at least attempt to get into her pants. He hadn’t been above that in the past so he didn’t see why not? Jughead could tell she was charmed and a little tipsy by the way she kept fluttering her lashes at him, and he thinks if he could fit in at least five more drinks in the next hour then he’d be less inclined to resist all the fleeting touches and high-pitched giggling. He debated it and debated it some more until his bladder could take no more and forced him to break the seal.</p><p>He’d successfully dodged Juliet’s probing question about his fading Serpent tattoo by excusing himself to use the restroom only to realised that it was in use. He waited a torturous ten minutes before deciding to dart up the stairs in search of an available toilette.</p><p>“You’ve been saying you’d talk to her for months now,” a delicate but thunderous voice emerged down the gloomy corridor. Then a rather derisive snort followed a second later, “I don’t care for any more of your excuses. You talk to her or you know mother will get to her first.”</p><p>“Rosie, come on,” the man’s soothing timbre bore an uncanny resemblance to Tom’s whenever Veronica started to stress over a banquet of some sort, “I need more time. It’s not exactly an easy topic to broach – “</p><p>“Well, you seem to have found it easy enough to broach it with everyone but your own wife.”</p><p>Rosie Cushing scrunched her pug-like face in dismay and huffed. It was a familiar sight to anyone who’s dined more than twice with the Cushing. Even under the faint lighting, Jughead could make out the mollified edges to Tom’s typically sharp face.</p><p>“I know this concept must be mystifying to you, sis, but I love Veronica,” the ice in Tom’s tumbler cracked and he thought something else might have as well, “I know we don’t want the same things and I know our differences are irreconcilable – “</p><p>“A child, Tommy! You call that a difference?”</p><p>“Yes,” he rumbled, “An unfixable one, but she is my wife and I’ll deal with this on my own term – not yours, and definitely not on our mother’s.”</p><p>Over the years, Tom and he had all but exchanged no more than twenty words in total. Half of those were ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ and the other half was about the weather or how business was going at American Tuna. It wasn’t that he disliked Tom, it was more that he didn’t know Tom and he didn’t care to. Tom returned that very sentiment, opting to only interacting with Jughead whenever there was no one else to converse with. There was an unspoken understanding that they were both tied to Veronica in their own way, albeit different versions of her. Jughead had come to appreciate both but Tom – and you could blame it on his superiority complex or his overactive mind – could Tom Cushing of the Cushing industries loved Riverdale’s Veronica; the daughter of mayor’s (un)elect, the banished and bruised, the girl who ran a second-rate diner and the seedy bar underneath it? He could, Jughead decided a long time ago, but he wouldn’t though. Not that it mattered anymore, she got out and now she was occupying the most expensive twenty-thousand square feet in Manhattan.</p><p>“Two months or you can be sure that mummy will deal with it for you. And you can be sure she won’t be gentle.”</p><p>In the end, Jughead wound up pissing off the fire escape, but only after making a quick stop in the kitchen and filching a bottle of aged brandy. He knew that was a sure-fire way to piss Tom off.</p><p>He’d washed down almost one-third of the bottle when it struck him just how unfair his predicament was. He should tell Veronica; he had no duty to Tom’s or the Cushing’s or its enterprise’s, and she – well, he owed her nothing but loyalty. Still, he’d accepted a long time ago that marriage was a fickle and fragile thing. He’d seen it with his parents’ – hell, he’d seen it with hers. He could tell her but at what cost? Their friendship? Her relationship? Her happiness?</p><p>Somehow, Jughead didn’t feel too confident in taking that gamble.</p><p>He was about to knock back more of her husband’s overpriced liquor when a sudden rapt against the window stopped him. His throat felt bone dry as he pulled up the glass and watched Veronica climbed through the gap in her opulent gown. The skirt swished over his faded Levi’s and the contrast reminded him of that time he climbed over the booth at Pop’s to sit by her.</p><p>“Now, now, I know you know better than to drink by yourself.”</p><p>Jughead rolled his eyes and occupied her outstretched hand with the bottle.</p><p>“And just so you know,” Veronica paused for a moment to take a sizable sip of the amber liquid, “I’m annoyed that you’ve ditched Juliet. I put a lot of thought into my match-making choices."</p><p>“You mean all the little pet projects that you do so you can have an excuse to micromanage people?” he retorts.</p><p>She looked piqued by his remark but not enough to be completely offended. “Is she such bad company that you had to resort to hiding?”</p><p>“Juliet’s fine,” he murmured, “I’m just not completely sold on the idea of her or this party.”</p><p>“You’re still such a snob after all these years! You’d be lucky to get a date with her. She’s the daughter of a very well-respected Democrat senator, you know.”</p><p>Jughead grimaced because one, she is <em>the</em> snob, and two, he’d never seen anyone look so perfect quivering in the cold with snow in their hair.</p><p>“Is that how people pick partners these days? By their social decree and affiliation to political parties?” he snarked and took a swig of the drink</p><p>She snorted. It was the most unladylike thing he’d seen her do all year, which meant she was tipsier than she was letting on.</p><p>“No, but don’t kid yourself, Jones, you would never end up with a republican.”</p><p>“But you would.”</p><p>Veronica’s mirthful eyes hardened into a glare. “Was that necessary?”</p><p>“Not really, no,” he admitted and hung his head, “Sorry. I don’t mean to stay resenting the rich and the privilege.”</p><p>“Do you,” her tongue flicked over her ruby lips, “Not like Tom?”</p><p>Jughead was vaguely aware that all the brandy had gone to his head and perhaps that was why he was questioning if he ever liked her husband to begin with.</p><p>“I’m just not sure if he’s the right person for you.”</p><p>She arched a brow and took Tom’s prized possession off his hand. “Why not? We have more in common than we don’t.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, both of you grew up filthy rich and share the materialistic love of brand named goods that they don’t stock at Saks and he loves how beautiful you are and vice versa. Yeah, I get that…” he was babbling but it was too late to stop, so he reached for her husband’s drink and drained it as if he’d paid for it, ”But there’s more to you than that. And I think – “ he drew in a sharp breath, “I think it’s a real shame that he doesn’t want to know you like I’ve come to know you.”</p><p>Jughead waited for something – for her to slap him or tell him to go to hell, but instead, she just laughed. His cheeks burned from embarrassment as she smoothed over them with her gloved palm.</p><p>Her grin was dull when she quipped, “I think if he did, he’d love me a little less for it.”</p><p>It was only six weeks later that Veronica and Tom announced their separation.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Veronica is bursting at the seams after her escapade. He doesn’t take that as a good sign, especially not when she kept coming up with more plans.</p><p>Surprisingly enough, Josie was the first to combust: “<em>Girl, you need to calm the fuck down before you get us all killed.”</em> Veronica then told her to “<em>Relax</em>,” convinced that his neighbour was “<em>Too busy being afraid of getting caught”</em> to figure out that it was them. Josie bristled out his door soon after that. Veronica looked so smug then – not confident like she usually does because she knows she’s two steps ahead of everyone else – but smug, like Betty when she was so busy hunting demons that she forgot all about the ones that haunted her.</p><p>Jughead doesn’t like this, not one bit.</p><p>“We’re not doing anything until Jeff calls us back,” he vows.</p><p>“But why?” she whines, something she barely does, “We’ve got her, Jug. All we need to do is –“</p><p>“Nothing,” he spits a little too harshly, “I can’t walk and you’ve done more than enough.”</p><p>Veronica stomps across the room and flops down on the couch in a defiant huff. They spend the next half an hour in angry silence. She flips or rather, rips through last month’s issue of Vogue and Jughead obsessively peeks through the narrow gap between his blinds.</p><p>Sometime not too much later, he’ll wish that he’d never seen it, but for the moment, he’s smug to have been right this whole time.</p><p>“Why are your eyes doing that twitchy thing that happens whenever you think you’ve finally figured out who the Zodiac is?”</p><p>Jughead’s too engrossed by what’s happening outside his window to roll his eyes. Instead, he twitches his finger at Veronica and beckons her to come closer.</p><p>“<em>Now </em>you want me to be involved,” he hears her grumble as she glides across the room and rests her weight on the armrest of his chair, “Oh wow, she’s really going to town on that rose bed.”</p><p>It isn’t an uncommon occurrence but Veronica’s right with her assessment. His neighbour’s digging up dirt and quite literally so. The blonde looks fraught with plastic gloves pulled over her bruised elbows and her stringy locks whipping against her protruding cheekbone. There’s a manic sort of look to her, the kind that crosses a child’s face when they’re coming down from a sugar high, as she scoops up more and more fertilizer and dumps them into a half-full plastic bag. The two of them watched in bated breath as the woman chucks the trowel onto the pile of dead roses by her feet and starts to yank at the fern until the roots come loose.</p><p>“What is she looking for?”</p><p>“I’m guessing that,” he points out belatedly as they watch the blonde prod around the empty hole like she’s hunting for treasures.   </p><p>Maybe it’s not a treasure she’s looking for. Maybe it’s a cursed object she’s after, because<em> that,</em> is a gold necklace with an art deco-inspired sapphire pendant hanging off it. <em>That,</em> is a peculiar piece of jewellery Jughead swears he’d seen before –</p><p>“The Finsta…”</p><p>Veronica blanches; a dreadful look of recognition. “The girlfriend, she was wearing it.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead doesn’t fight Veronica on much anymore. He used to in high school but those days were long gone. He can only recount two instances within the last few years and one was the Vanity Fair fiasco. He’s learned the hard way not to go against her. It’s a losing fight, but he tells her when she’s acting crazy anyway.</p><p>“It’s not Mission Impossible,” she tells him with a casual roll of her eyes, one of her Jil Sander’s wedges already going over her foot, “I just have to sneak in while the Uber makes the delivery and be gone before she returns to her apartment. On New York’s schedule that should give me ten minutes.”</p><p>“You can’t even rely on the cabs here, but you want to rely on the city’s operating schedule to keep you safe?”</p><p>Veronica cocks her head to the side and presented a patronising smile. “Even you’ve got to put your trust into something once in a while.”</p><p>In other circumstances, he would have probably found that endearing because this feels like a part of the routine – something straight out of one of those screwball talkies she holds so dear. Except it’s not and she’s hell-bent on sneaking into a potential murderer’s apartment to steal a damning piece of murder evidence.</p><p>And so Jughead finds himself asking: “Why would you risk your life for something you’re not even entirely convinced of?”</p><p>“Of course, I’m convinced! It’s all right there – you just have to follow the online crumbs of infidelity and sleazy lo-fi pics.”</p><p>“That’s not the tune you were singing a couple of days ago.”</p><p>Veronica narrows her eyes at him. “Well, consider me sold, Forsythe.”</p><p>He hates It when she calls him by his given name in that demeaning tone and she knows it too. It reminds him too much of getting grounded by his mother, and Reggie’s grip around his collar, and running through the damp forest, and everything he couldn’t control. Most of all, it reminds him that he’s useless at making her stay.   </p><p>Jughead pushes both hands onto his thighs and squeezes, hoping to feel something. “There is something else,” he speculates, “This isn’t just about my neighbour and who she killed in her own time.”</p><p>She blinks at him like a broken traffic light.</p><p>He rolls towards her until they’re both crammed into the small by his door. “What’s going on, Ronnie?”</p><p>“Nothing,” her burgundy lips straighten into an oppressive line and rests her hand atop of his, kneading with the pad of her fingers. He’s inclined to believe that the intended effect is supposed to be comforting but it’s the opposite, “We should wait until I make it across the road to order the car.”</p><p>“No, we need to talk about this,” Jughead demand, his grip around her wrist too tight and too clammy, “I mean it, Veronica. There are consequences to these things,” he’s holding on, desperate and fraught but she’s already slipping away, the clasp of her Miu Miu cuff cutting into his palm as she turns the doorknob, “We are not kids anymore! You can’t – <em>we</em> can’t just run around town vindicating dead lovers with shady pasts like we’re sixteen and invincible.”</p><p>Veronica freezes and for one silly moment, he believes that she’d listen.</p><p>“That wasn’t me,” her voice wavers, and it hits him like saltwater that soaked over his knees that one night he sat by the Maya beach and wrote her postcards he never had the courage to send, “That was you and Betty.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“And you just let her go?!?”</p><p>“Have you ever had any luck of stopping Veronica once she put her mind to something?” Jughead throws back at her in rhetoric, “Yeah, didn’t think so.”</p><p>Josie’s returned from her “<em>walk of frustration</em>” only to discover that he’d been utterly useless at keeping their friend from getting herself killed. He’s fully aware that he’s never living this down.</p><p>“I called the Uber right before you walked in,” he tells her, trying to sound calm but probably failing at it, “ETA is five minutes.”</p><p>“Are you kidding me?!” Josie explodes, her curls all frizzed up from the wind and partially due to her extreme aggravation at him, “You’re really going through with this?!? Call her and tell her to get back here!”</p><p>He stifles an exhale and hands her his phone.</p><p>That’s when she begins to curse up a storm in the backdrop of his apartment. Jughead doesn’t blame her but he doesn’t have time to deal with her fit of anger right now, especially when he can see Veronica standing by at a newsstand outside the building, pretending to read LIFE magazine with some raggedy plastic shades on. The owner was saying something to her, his face sunburnt and screwed up as he hovered over the row of mints and gums to get her attention.</p><p>“Okay, fine, if she refuses to back down. Then…” Josie trails off before releasing a guttural groan, “I don’t know, but we’ve got to do something.”</p><p>“I called Jeff as soon as she left,” Jughead informs her evenly, the binocular digging into the bags under the eyes, “How long until the Uber gets there?”</p><p>“Um…three?”</p><p>“Text her to be on the lookout.”</p><p>“Jughead,” the curly-haired girl starts warningly, “I hope you know what you’re doing. No one knows how dangerous this woman actually is. I know V is one tough cooking but I think she’s in over her head with this one.</p><p>He’s practically simmering over with smart-ass remarks but he knows none of it would return Veronica to them safely, so he bites down on his tongue and continues to watch her from his windowsill.</p><p>Josie rustle besides him, her crepe pants rubbing against the leather of his loveseat noisily. “How is Veronica so sure that she did it?”</p><p><em>Because I’m sure</em>, Jughead thinks with a pang of regret.</p><p>A silver Honda pulls up to the curb with a halting screech that makes Josie cringe, and the driver steps out of it with three ‘<em>Panda Express’</em> bags hanging off his arms. Jughead tries not to think about how much time he must have spent watching his neighbour in the last month to know her order by heart – Chow Mein, orange chicken, cream cheese Rangoon, veggie spring rolls, and eggplant tofu. Veronica hates the spring rolls from there. Veronica – </p><p>“She’s on the move.”</p><p>The petite brunette tosses a ten-dollar bill and the sunglasses at the plump man working the stand and slips through the sliding door as the delivery guy punches a few digits into the intercom. The concierge doesn’t spare her a glance and the skinny alt-chick that’s lounging around the reception doesn’t even look up from the complimentary magazine.</p><p>“Jeff is calling.”</p><p>“Here. Keep an eye on her,” he instructs and trades her the binocular for his iPhone.</p><p>“What was the one thing I asked you to do?”</p><p>Jughead suppresses a sigh. “Nothing”</p><p>“Oh, so you did listen,” Jeff’s rough Brooklyn accent suckers punch him in the eardrum, “What the fuck were you thinking?”</p><p>“I wasn’t – “</p><p>“Damn right, you weren’t!’ the man barks, “I ran your neighbour’s dirty little secret through the database. Turns out, you two were onto something. There’s a missing person’s report out for her – Danielle Young. Her roommate wants to know if she’s going to make this month’s rent,” he can practically hear his fingers pounding over the keyboards at lightning pace, “Jesus Christ, Tom is going to bury me for this. He’s not going to be happy when he hears that I sent his ex-wife to an early grave."</p><p>“That’s what you’re worried about?” he retorts hotly, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose, “Look, Veronica is riding up the elevator as we speak. If you don’t have any useful advice, then quit wasting time and dispatch the closest unit.”</p><p>Jughead suspects the man attempted to cover the phone with his hand because the <em>‘fuck’</em> is rather fuzzy from his end. Then, “Don’t let either of them out of your sight understand? If your nutcase neighbour gets back to her apartment before Veronica gets out then she’s as good as dead, you hear me?”</p><p>He hangs up before Jeff, of all people, can rehash the plot to every ‘<em>Law &amp; Order’</em> episode.</p><p>Josie shoots him a troubled glance before staring back down the barrels. He doesn’t tell her off for it but it’s distracting to know that she’s insistently plucking at the one thread coming off her tank top. It’s making him itch to do a similar thing to his sweat pants.</p><p>“I see her! She’s coming around the corner.”</p><p>Jughead never understood why Veronica wears such impractical things – needle-thin heels, tulles that scratched against her wool stockings, crisp white blouses that she managed to never stain – but nevertheless, she sure looks beautiful in them. He spent most of the last fall, watching her swish around in couture coats and drinking Starbucks coffees he didn’t know how to order. Then he spent most of last holiday blissfully happy and wishing he could tell her that he plans to love her for the rest of his life. It’s almost spring now and he’s still a coward, watching her trying to jimmy the door open in her olive midi polo dress from the window of his living room.</p><p>“Where did she learn to do that?” Josie asks, scandalized by the sight of Veronica who’s wiggling her Mastercard card between the lock and the frame until the door gives.</p><p>“Me,” he confesses blandly. He remembers showing her that trick that one morning they broke into Carol’s liquor cabinet during their stay at her mammy’s beach house, “What’s my neighbour up to?”</p><p>Josie folds her lip under her teeth and offers him back his binocular. “I think you better have a look.”</p><p>Jughead doesn’t need audio to know that the lanky blonde has gotten into a heated argument with the driver. Her typically pale complexion is flushed a ruddy shade as she jabs at the man’s bicep with a chipped nail, her beady eyes jutting out of her head as she yells in his face. They’d hoped that would happen so Veronica would have more time to slip out.  </p><p>“Geez, that woman needs anger management.”</p><p>“Most murderers do,” he says dryly, returning his line of sight back to the pint-sized brunette. Immediately, he sags with momentary relief, “Okay, she’s in.”</p><p>Veronica swiftly shuts the door behind her and dashes across the room, skipping over a few nick-nacks his neighbour left scattered across the floor in her rush to tear through her wife’s garden. He could have sworn that the woman had left the necklace on top of the outdoor unit. Veronica must have thought so too because she’s dawdling around the balcony with a jumbled expression on her face, her panic-stricken gaze landing on them for some assistance.</p><p>“I can’t see it…” Jughead mumbles through his frown.</p><p>“Shit…uh, what does it look like?”</p><p>“Gold chain. Sapphire. Um…” he clicks his fingers as if that would help conjure the image to mind, “The gem is in those square diamond shape.”</p><p>“Wait! I think I see it,” Josie squeaks and furiously waves at the brunette to move into the bedroom, “It’s on the nightstand!”</p><p>Veronica beelines towards the bedside table, her sight set on the prized jewel. She breaks into a breathtaking grin then; a rare smile that only few lucky ones will ever be graced by in this lifetime. It’s the one where the corner of her eyes crinkle, her cupid bow flattens, her cheeks rosy from delight – the one he often envisioned whenever times got rough during his travels.</p><p>“Oh, come on, is she being serious with that?”</p><p><em>Oh, she is,</em> Jughead smirks, Veronica’s the only person he knows that totes around gloves in real life.</p><p>“That’s my girl,” he muses under his breath as the brunette carefully dropped the necklace into a handkerchief and folded it neatly into her pocket.</p><p>The thrill of seeing her thrive is short-lived because all he would feel after Josie nudges him in the ribcage is bone-chilling terror. His neighbour has settled her screaming-match with the Uber and is currently barrelling down the hall like a bullet train, if they did Chinese takeout anyway. Veronica, oblivious as ever to this recent development, is waltzing around the culprit’s apartment with the ease of someone who’s been invited over to brunch.</p><p>“V!” Josie’s scream rippled through his apartment but the echoes aren’t loud enough to reach across the road, “VERONICA!!! HIDE!!”</p><p>The front door burst open and she jumps, whirling around at the noise. The lock clicks over, the blonde pulls the curtains shut.</p><p>They say life flashes before your eyes like a grainy film reel when you’re about to meet your end. Jughead has had his fair share of near-death experiences but he’s yet to experience a split second of such a pivotal moment. He used to think it’s because he hasn’t been close enough, hasn’t done enough, hasn’t felt enough. He used to think he’d get the replays of him teaching JB to ride a bike, or his mother baking him his favourite chocolate chip cookies, or his father, laughing at him after giving him his first beer, or even Archie trying to beat him at Street Fighter. It’s only when he takes in the haunting image of Veronica Lodge, the girl he begrudgingly grew up with and the woman that made him grow, fluttering around a stranger’s cluttered apartment, that he finally sees the highlights that he’s yet to live. He sees Veronica sunbathing on the balcony with a battered copy of ‘Gone With the Wind’ because as much as she likes to say it’s cheesy, he knows she secretly sees herself in Scarlett. He sees them holding hands down the street to get iced coffee on a warm July morning. He sees her lying in his bed, covered in her champagne silk sheets and complaining about the new girl at the office. He sees himself, happy, and older, and with Veronica because that’s where he’s destined to be for the rest of his natural life.</p><p>“Oh my god…you’re standing up,” Josie exclaims but he can barely hear her through the buzzing in his ears, “Jughead, <em>you’re standing up</em>.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It surprised Jughead just how vindictive he could be. He’d always known that he had a malignant side; something he wasn’t proud of but commonly found in all the Jones men. He’d learn to quell it over the years – every punch and every slap taught him to lock away the monster that so often possessed FP whenever he uncorked a bottle. Then one day, he was standing outside the Pembrooke, and suddenly, he was done fighting.</p><p>He saw the headlights of Fred’s old truck coming from two streets down but he didn’t bother to duck behind the cement wall until he heard the engine slow. The cigarette butt was grounded into the creaminess of the column. He figured since she was leaving town soon she wouldn’t care about a little marring on her property.</p><p>Jughead felt stupid just watching them. How he did not notice after weeks of forced smiles, dead-end conversations, and prickly touches would forever elude him. Veronica hopped out of the car without a goodnight kiss and the boy that was supposed to be her boyfriend didn’t even bother to bid farewell as he drove into the night. He wondered if the redhead was speeding over to his girlfriend’s house. At least that seemed fair. After all, Jughead had been waiting for his for over twenty minutes now.</p><p>“Jughead!” Veronica leaped back, startled by his presence as he stepped out of the shadows, “Why are you lurking around the corner like some creepy stalker?”</p><p>He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I should have known better what with the Auteur’s recent rampage and all.”</p><p>Jughead was full of plots and schemes and<em> hate</em> as he tore through the town like a man possessed on his Harley but now that he was standing before her, he was no longer sure of what he wanted out of this meeting.</p><p>“Date night?”</p><p>“Yes,” Veronica replied tersely, “We saw <em>Blood Simple</em> at the Bijou. Any problem with that?”</p><p>“I’m sure his pea-sized brain found it educational,” he scoffed, “Although you wouldn’t need to get your hands dirty if you wanted revenge. I’d imagine daddy would take care of that for you if you asked.”</p><p>She wrapped both arms around her torso as if that could shield her from this conversation. “What are you doing here, Jughead?”</p><p>He shrugged vacantly. “It’s been three days since you slipped me that note at prom.”</p><p>Veronica stared down at her scuffed Mahnolo’s and started with the comical charade. “You know, Jones, you’re starting to sound needy – “</p><p>“What are we going to do about it?”</p><p>She stared at him blankly until her gaze began to soften like she finally understood why they were standing outside her building and speaking in codes. “Nothing, Jughead.”</p><p>At that, she tried to make her exit through the revolving door. He wasn’t about to let her get away that easy.</p><p>“Nothing?!” Jughead roared, half enraged and half disbelieved as he snagged at the strap of her purse, “You’re telling me that you’re just letting it go? After how she punished you for kissing him at the beginning of our sophomore year like she had any claim to him? Have you fucking lost it, Lodge?” he licked his lip and made her face him, “May I remind you that this is not the first time that they’ve done this to you – to us?!”</p><p>Veronica ripped away from him with such force that it sent him tumbling down the steps.</p><p>“No, you may not and no, I haven’t lost it!” she snapped, the acidity of her voice poisoning the air around them, “How you deal with this is your business, but I refused to ruin my last days of high school with all this bullshit. I am <em>done,</em>” she wrung her hands like she was swatting off an invisible force that was threatening to blow them both up, “I am done with Archie, and Betty, and always trying to look in from the outside. I’m so tired of trying to live up to someone I’ll never be.”</p><p>He swallowed, the words clagging in his mouth. It didn’t make any sense to him that a girl like Veronica ever felt the need to live up to anything. He remembered seeing her front and centre at the pep rally, her hair wrapped in blue velvet and her eyes winking at the world like she owned it. He’d never seen anyone so painfully perfect before.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Jughead, but if it’s revenge you’re after then you’ve come to the wrong person,” Veronica murmured, not sounding the least bit apologetic, “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from me, but be above the petty vengeance.”</p><p>It was rather pathetic on his part but: “I don’t know how to.”</p><p>“Yes, you do,” she said earnestly and descended down to meet him halfway. She held his hollowed cheeks with such compassion that it almost eradicated the pain that he couldn’t seem to flush from his system no matter how many cans of beer he chugged, “If you truly love Betty, then know that you’ve lost her and let her go.”</p><p>“And if I can’t?”</p><p>Veronica smiles, sad and delicate and excruciatingly beautiful. “Then at least try to understand that it's not for you to change the ending.”</p><p>As it later turned out, Archie wasn’t a hero, Betty wasn’t an innocent, he wasn’t a special misfit, but Veronica was the best of them.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Jughead was never much of an athlete, but he’s never been any faster than he is now sprinting up this fire escape.</p><p>The elevator was taking its sweet fucking time and since every second counted, he’s perfectly fine with knocking over a couple of New Yorkers and being a public nuisance to all the tenants that live in the building.</p><p>Jughead’s ready to hurl his lunch back up by the time he makes it to the window. One, because he hasn’t done this much exercise in years, and two, because he can’t see Veronica but instantly spots her chunky heel sticking out from under the vanity table. He can barely keep his head screwed on straight and his fingers are aching as he fumbles with the catch until it gives. He climbs in like a thief in the night, not wanting to alert his neighbour that she’s got a second visitor for the day.  </p><p>The first thing he notices is how stale the bedroom smells, like death and a mouldy loaf of bread he always forgets to throw away so Veronica has to do it for him. It’s odd, finally standing in the very same room he spends all his time observing from the safety of his own home. The carpet feels scratchy under his toes, the lamp too big for the nightstand, the walls a touch green than he thought they’d bad. All the drawers had been haphazardly pulled open and clothes are strewn all over the place. A suitcase – a different one that piqued his curiosity all those days ago – laid open next to the foot of the bed with a few shirts, a puffer jacket, a bundle of hiking socks, and basic toiletries shoved into it. He deduces then that the woman had been planning to make a break for it. The door has an ugly dent on it, almost as if someone had flung something at it and left a scar in the wood. He nudges it ajar with the side of his foot and has to stop himself from doing something reckless, like running to her side.</p><p>There’s no sign of the blonde anywhere but Veronica is there, lying in the middle of the living room. Her arms and legs are splayed open around her and he blocks out the vision of white chalks sketched out in her shape. <em>She isn’t dead</em>, plays in his head like a jammed cassette as he staggers over. His eyes are burning to stay on her broken body but he keeps his eyes on all doors. He’s no use to her dead.</p><p>Jughead’s down on his hands and knees when he notices how usually pale she looks, having lost the golden glow that seems to radiate off her no matter what season of the year it happens to be. Her hair’s horribly tangled under her head and as he cradles her in his hand, her neck flops onto his lap to reveal a puddle of blood – wet and fresh and – this<em> cannot</em> be how he loses her –   </p><p>“Veronica – Ronnie, come on, wake up,” Jughead scoops her into his arms and shakes, “Hey, you’ve got to wake up, you hear me?”</p><p>“You – “ she hums, half drowsy, half dream-like as her head lolls against his hold, “You...hmm...you can walk.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he laughs because it is a bit of a miracle now that he has a second to process to it, “Yeah, I can. So we can go to Milan like you wanted. Then – uh – then we’ll go to St. Tropez again. Just the two of us again but – “ he swats her gently on the cheek once her eyes begin to close up again, “We’ll do it right this time. Are you – listen to me, Veronica, listen! It wasn’t a bad idea. You – “ he swallows because he feels his mind slipping as but in an entirely different way to hers, “You had the right idea. You were right, all this time. So – so we’ve got to go back. We’ve got to – “</p><p>Veronica limply tugs at his fist until it unknots around the material of her dress and presses something cool onto his palm. He stares down at the gemstone, glimmering under the artificial light like a plastic star people put up on their Christmas tree. He quickly shoves the necklace into his pocket so he wouldn’t have to torment himself with the sight of a tragedy of his own making.</p><p>“Jug...”</p><p>“W – what? What is it?”</p><p>Then he feels a sharp jab right below his knee. He buckles in pain and flops onto the floor. The mousy blonde howls at him as she lunges at him with all her might, her nails clawing at his face and the Stanley knife in her clutch narrowly missing his shoulder as he rolls over and away from Veronica’s form.</p><p>“I can’t even take a five-minute bathroom break without you nosy fucks stirring up more trouble.”</p><p>The woman scrambles after him, skidding across her floorboard like a wild animal, and latches onto the back of his sweater. The fabric tears, her fingers caught in it as he fights to pull her off him. He learns that looks can be very deceiving because his neighbour, a meek little woman with gangly limbs, resembles more of hellcat when she tackles him onto his front while he fumbles around for anything and everything.</p><p>“See, I wouldn’t have to do this if only you would have minded your fucking business,” she growls, her knee pushing into his spine, “Now it’s too late and I’m going to have to clean house.”</p><p>Jughead wraps his hand around something solid and heavy and swings it backward. There’s a resounding crack over the sound of her yowling as they wrestle for the make-shift weapon. Jughead grasps at her wrist, twisting until she drops the bloodied paperweight onto the floor. He manoeuvres them around so he’s got one hand pinning down her arm and another pushing into her windpipe. He’s squeezing down, when –</p><p>“You,” she rips a carving knife out from her waistband and points it at Veronica’s crumbled form, “Tell your boyfriend to stay still or I’ll slice your throat open and make him watch.”</p><p>“You fucking touch her and I swear – “</p><p>The blonde silences him with a blade straight into the thigh. The howl of pain dies in the back of his throat as she knocks him onto his back and effectively, the wind out of him.</p><p>“You swear what?” The woman yanks him painfully by the hair, her breath hot against his ear, “I’m going to kill you, then your busybody girlfriend, and there is nothing you can do about it.”</p><p>“You killed her,” he hears Veronica wheezes from the foot of the dining table, “T – the girl – you – killed he – her. W – why?”</p><p>The blonde grunts, her eyes the colour of burnt coal as she swings one leg over him and propels herself onto his chest, her weight squeezing the oxygen out of his lung.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have to,” she grits out, baring her teeth at him like some feral animal, “I didn’t want to,” she punctuates as if she’s stabbing into him with every word, “Everything was peachy until she threatened to go to my wife. I couldn’t have that. Every cent I have is tied into this stupid fucking place, and I didn’t even want to move to the goddamn city!”</p><p>Jughead is scared shitless, not because he’s about to die but because the woman he loves will have to face such an unremarkable demise. Veronica told him once that she’d rather go under mysterious circumstances than “<em>plain, old murder</em>.” It was a bleak thing to say but it was so undeniably her. And how tragic it will be if he never got to tell her that he thinks they should never be apart again, not even for a day because they’ve wasted hundreds and thousands of those already. So he stretches his hand out until it tingles and burns and clutching the paperweight that he should have used more than once.</p><p>“It’s a shame what I’ll have to do to that pretty little friend of yours that’s been keeping watch. Normally, she’d be just my type.”</p><p>His neighbour’s driving the knife down when the door flies open and more than several guns are pointed at her:</p><p>“Drop the knife or you’ll force one of these men to blow your head off.”</p><p>Jughead would laugh if his throat hadn’t completely closed up. He never thought the day would come that he’d be happy to see Jeff, but he guesses you never know.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm bittersweet that to declare this story 'complete.' On one hand, it's going to give me more time to focus on 'BUARB'  but at the same time, I know I'll really miss writing this specific plot. With that being said, I do have a monster of a word doc just sitting there full of paragraphs that pick up where this epilogue leaves off. No promises but it's likely that there will be a short 1-3 chapters sequel of some sort that touches on their relationship and lives post-murder mystery. I feel like I put them through hell just to get to this point so I think it's only right that I explore the happier times...? I don't know lmao</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Because it’s Veronica, she insists she’s ready to get back on her feet after the bleeding subsided and they finished wrapping up her wound. The doctor tells her that she might be dealing with a concussion but other than that, she’s lucky that his neighbour didn’t aim a little closer to her frontal lobe. She rolls her eyes, makes a sarcastic quip about it being a blessed day then proceeds to spend the remainder of the time that the medics are there fussing over his leg and reassuring a hysterical Josie that she’ll live. He honestly believes that she cares more about the bloodstains on her new dress than she does about getting pummelled in the head with what she describes to the detectives as “<em>a hideous paperweight that belongs in a pilgrim’s home.”</em></p><p>Jeff is livid at both of them but promptly gets over it once the captain arrives on the scene with mentions of a medal. In fact, he’s so pleased with himself that he walks down to the bottle shop to get a six-pack of Budweiser and puts one in Jughead’s hand while some officer takes down his statement. Veronica glares at Jeff for every sip he takes but the man is insistent that they’ve earned themselves a drink after everything that’s transpired in the last twelve hours. The nurse tells him that his muscles “<em>woke itself up”</em> as a part of the fight or flight response, giggling whenever she made eye contact with Veronica who refuses to leave his side. Apparently, it’s become quite the talking point amongst the crime scene that he ran like a headless chicken to “<em>rescue his</em> <em>beautiful girlfriend</em>” and now they think he’s some kind of knight in shining armour. He feels far from it but Veronica kisses him on the cheeks and calls him “<em>her hero</em>” anyway. Unfortunately, getting plundered in the thigh with a serrated blade means that he’ll be trading in his wheelchair for a pair of crutches for the next month.</p><p>They find out his neighbour is Anne Hearst and that next Saturday would mark the third anniversary of her marriage. Jeff says he feels bad for “the poor bastard” that will have to call her wife in Hawaii. The blonde mouths “<em>fuck you</em>” at Jughead from across the courtyard as they’re shoving her into the police car and in turn, Veronica flips her the bird. Jeff does the honour of reading out her rights and the offences she’s being charged for. He’s the type to gloat so he whispers “<em>told you so</em>” to Veronica when forensic lets it slips that they found a rental locker at central station under Hearst’s name and within it, a bloodied t-shirt and jeans that belonged to Danielle Young. They don’t tell him about the DNA results but he’d wager a guess that it matches whatever they could salvage from his neighbour’s extensive collection of kitchen knives. Jeff, however, is happy to divulge as long as he promises to keep it between them, that another unit has discovered pieces of Danielle Young, scattered throughout the meatpacking district. Anne refuses to confess to that particularly gruesome crime but confess to attempting to murder, in her own words, “<em>a bunch of brownnosing New Yorkers who should have stayed home</em>.” Jughead thinks it’s safe to say that the woman’s going to be locked behind bars for some time.</p><p>Eventually, cars and ambulance begin to leave his block, and police and curious neighbours go home to their family. Eventually, it’s the two of them alone again and he’s forever glad for that.</p><p>She doesn’t say anything for a long time once they’ve returned to the safety of his apartment. He thinks it should be him that speaks first, but what do you say after confessing your undying love in the throe of a double-murder attempt?</p><p>Veronica beats him to it though. Of course, she does.</p><p>“I did a very stupid thing today.”</p><p>Jughead looks up from that glass of whiskey he’s taken to nursing since forbidding her from drinking it. “For what? Breaking into a homicidal maniac’s home or attempting to neck an expensive bottle of alcohol when you might be dealing with a concussion?”</p><p>She glares at him from under her lashes but there’s no real malice there. “All of the above, but mostly going after a woman killer so I could prove to you that I can do it.”</p><p>He arches a brow, swishing the ice around absentmindedly. “Do what?”</p><p>Veronica almost looks ashamed as she mumbles the next string of words. “Uncover mysteries and play detective so I could be the partner in crime that you’ve always wanted.”</p><p>Jughead sets the tumbler down on the marbled bench and surmises, “This is about Betty.”</p><p>“No,” she denies in a small, insecure voice that’s so unlike her. Then, a sudden change of tune, “Maybe a little bit. But it’s more than that! I don’t want you to think that life with me would be this long, mundane journey that you’d be wasting away on.”</p><p>He almost chokes on his own saliva at that line of reasoning.</p><p>“What happened to thinking it was “silly” and “childish”? The Veronica I know back in high school would have been permanently rolling her eyes at all this crime-solving action I’ve been involved in for the last few weeks.”</p><p>“The Veronica back in high school also got dumped for Nancy Drew,” Veronica mutters dejectedly, evading his gaze and nipping at her rouge-stained lips, “Also you’re right, it’s beyond stupid to chase after serial killers when you’re too young to even own a gun, but you loved that and you loved that you had someone to share it with.”</p><p>It’s an inopportune time to laugh but Jughead almost does. Here’s the most beautiful girl in every room, the smartest person he’s ever known, the disarmingly charming belle of all of the balls, and she’s fretting over him? He who’s never been anyone’s first choice, him who was born and raised in a trailer park, him who had been too much of a coward to take all that she’s been trying to give. He doubts there’s enough time in the world to make her understand this, so instead, he ambles over to the couch and gets on his good knee before her like he’s at worship.</p><p>“For the longest time, I used to wake up thinking of death and bloodshed. Now I wake up thinking of you – of how much I love you, of how badly I wished you were next to me, of how lucky I am to have you in my life. You did that, Veronica, you gave me something to look forward to when there was nothing. I – “ he lets out an exasperated breath and trails his thumb over the underside of her jaw, jerking up her chin so she’d have to look at him, “Those things…they don’t matter to me, not like you do. Do you understand that? I haven’t cared for knocking down doors and taking down small-time goons in a very long time now. Not having to sleep with one eye open every night because I think a drug kingpin might assassinate me in my sleep has its perks.”</p><p>“So you do love me…” Veronica mutters dazedly and he can’t tell if she’s reaffirming it to herself or him, “I was beginning to think I hallucinated that part.”</p><p>“How could I not?” Jughead peels her hand off her lap so he could hold it in his own, “I never said it because I didn’t think I should. It felt safer – the distance and the unsaid words made it easier for me and for you and for what it could be. But you know I do – “ his throat constricts painfully at the pitiful confession, “Well, if you didn’t know then now you do.”</p><p>“Did you love me in Saint Tropez?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>She shifts, the discomfit clear as day on her face. “Well, did you?”</p><p>He’s got nothing to lose anyway so maybe honesty will do them some good.</p><p>“Before that too.”</p><p>Veronica’s staring at him like he’s the best thing to ever happen to her and he knows he hasn’t earned that kind of unwavering conviction from her but he will someday.</p><p>“We’ve wasted so much time – “</p><p>“No, we didn’t,” Jughead refutes, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, “The person that I’ve become – that’s who you deserve. Not high school me, not me from five years ago and, not even me from yesterday,” he’s trying his hardest not to lose his train of thought but it’s near impossible when her lips are trembling like they’ve been waiting a lifetime to be kissed, “Yesterday I was still afraid, but not today – not anymore. So yeah, I’m sorry that it took me all this time to get here, but for what it’s worth, I’ve waited a really long time to be the right choice for you.”</p><p>Veronica’s the one to put them both out of their misery by lunging out of her seat and pressing her mouth to his. The taste of her is still cinnamon and orange peel, same as all those years ago in the French Rivera when he wasn’t ready but spent days aching for it anyway. He used to live off the fleeting memory of rolling waves, cherry lipstick, expensive champagne, and sparkling silk slipping through his fingers. Now he holds onto her like a long lost lover and kisses her like they’ve got all the time in the world.</p><p>“I love you,” she whispers over and over in his ears, her breath hitching before he swoops down to quiet her with another tender touch of the lips, “Jug…”</p><p>“Hmm…”</p><p>“Does this mean I’m officially your girlfriend?”</p><p>He hums distractedly. “That’s a juvenile way to put it but if that’s what you’d like to call it.”</p><p>“Ok then,” Jughead muffles her speech with another languid kiss, but she finds a way to get the words out anyway, “Then as your girlfriend, I demand an indefinite break on the recon work.”</p><p>He pulls away for long enough to chuckle at her bossiness. “It’s been about three seconds and you’re already abusing your privileges.” Then a pleasant, albeit daunting idea comes to him, “You know there’s a way to make sure that I permanently retire from neighbourhood watch.”</p><p>Veronica gazes at him questioningly; her chocolate eyes round and full of the usual adoration. It dawns on him that not much has changed between them even if it feels like they’ve taken a giant leap of faith.</p><p>“You can always move in. If only to keep an eye on me.”</p><p>She looks mildly impressed by that as she pulls him onto the couch and on top of her. “Since when did you get so smooth?”</p><p>“It’s temporary, I assure you,” he then decides the best way to mask his nerve is to ramble into the crooked of her neck “And by temporary, I mean I’m not going to be smooth for much longer if you keep me hanging. Not that I’m trying to rush you into a decision but you’re kind of making me sweat here, Ronnie.”</p><p>She giggles and he feels the familiar fluttering in his stomach as she splays a palm over his heart.</p><p>“I think that sounds like a perfectly grand arrangement.”</p><p>Jughead feels the uncontrollable urge to tell Veronica that she drives him insane but he loves her all the same when she says:</p><p>“Although, we’re going to need a bigger bathroom. And definitely a bigger closet.”</p><p>He kisses her long and hard after that to keep her from making any more demands.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>P.S. MANY BIG THANK YOU'S to everyone who's ever left a comment, left kudos, or even just read this little story of mine. All your support, patience and kind words have gotten us to this point, so I'm forever grateful to everyone who's given me and this fic a chance. I'll be seeing you real soon - either through my other ongoing fic, new AU's, or a continuation of this one x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>